Don't Say A Word
by lullabyemyuu
Summary: Romano has been kidnapped, and Spain will do anything to get him back. How far would you go to save someone you loved? Mainly Spamano, with DenNor and SuFin.
1. You Are My Sunshine

_A/N Ciao, everyone and welcome to my first multi-chaptered Spain/Romano fic. Thank you so much for clicking on this! Anyway, *official cough* I suppose I should get the warnings out of the way. This piece is rated M for a reason._

_Warnings: Romano's mouth, torture (both implied and not, there'll be more of this in later chapters) and boyxboy (obviously). _

_Pairings: Spamano, DenNor and SuFin are the only ones I have planned though I may add PruHun in as well. _

Romano liked the system he and Spain had fallen into. It was simple, it was easy and it was something he had grown to depend on these past few years. Sometimes (though he would never admit it) Romano had wondered if there could be something more beyond this but old insecurities quickly pushed those thoughts to the back of his head.

Whenever Germany came over to visit or Romano was feeling upset for some other odd reason, he left the house quietly (one-sided screaming matches with Germany had ceased to provide entertainment), got in his car and drove the many miles to Spain's house where he knew warm hugs, tomatoes and a plate of churros were waiting for him. No matter how busy, the older nation would never turn him away and would always listen to his rants and dry his tears before ushering him out into the tomato fields where together they would tend to them and talk. After weeks of this quiet ritual they knew nearly everything about each other, things Romano had been too embarrassed to admit when he was younger and things Spain had not told him for fear of being hated by his little henchman.

And sometimes (well, rather often actually) Romano found himself spending the night at Spain's house. Sometimes Romano just couldn't go home because he knew an empty eyed German would be there, latched to his brother's side and pretending to love him when everyone knew (except for Veneziano himself) that he had not loved him since the end of WWII.

Spain was there for him in the middle of the night, when Romano cried openly because he knew that one day his fragile little brother's heart would be broken and there was nothing he could do. And on some days, when Romano hardly even bothered sprinkling his speech with the usual profanities that were his trademark and he was feeling particularly open, Romano would tell Spain his deepest and ugliest fear: the fear that one day Romano would disappear because, really, who needed two Italies anyway?

His old caretaker stroked his hair and whispered to him that he had nothing to fear because as long as he knew someone loved him, he _couldn't _disappear and Boss Spain loved Romano more than anything else in the world. More than tomatoes, more than turtles and more than New World gold.

And when Spain cried (however rarely that occurred) Romano was there to offer soft words of forgiveness as the nation's body shook with the sins he had committed in the name of progress and riches and promise him that he would love Spain, too, no matter what he did and how many curse words he threw at him. There were hundreds of guest rooms in Spain's house but neither Romano nor Spain ever slept alone.

And so when Spain first kissed him, it came as no surprise to Romano. In fact, he welcomed it with the air of someone who has waited a long time for a prize and discovered it was most certainly worth the wait. They were countries, so they had time enough to let love grow slowly, nourishing it like the tomato plants they both loved so much.

He didn't taste like tomatoes, as Romano had sort of expected, but he couldn't find it within himself to be disappointed. He tasted deep and earthy and behind that softness he could detect the bitterness of gunpowder and the metallic flavor of gold. It was perfect and entirely _Spain. _Romano wondered briefly if Spain could taste his history as well. Perhaps all nations tasted of their pasts.

The kiss was chaste but long, each unwilling to pull away from something they had both wanted for far too long. Romano found himself disappointed when Spain finally broke the kiss, gasping for air. He placed his warm hands around Romano's face, smoothing away tears he had not even been aware of.

"I love you, Romano."

Somehow those words meant so much more than the ones whispered at in the dark beneath the bedcovers as they helped each other struggle through the night. It wasn't just an 'I love you', for that had already been established.

It was an 'I need you, I want you, I want you here with me forever. I want you to hold me and never _ever _let me go."

And Romano's reply, "I love you too, you bastard," was so much more than that.

It was an "I will never let you go if you promise to do the same for me."

After that, Romano stopped going home at all.

_Two Months Later_

"Remember to give Ita-chan a hug from me, alright Romano? I'll miss you!"

"Yeah, yeah, you won't be missing me much if you don't even let me make it to my car," mumbled Romano from his place sandwiched against Spain's chest. Not that he particularly wanted Spain to let him go or anything. The car didn't really seem all that important right now.

"Oh, sorry," Spain chuckled sheepishly, releasing his little tomato from his grip. Romano immediately felt cold.

Lovingly, Spain arranged Romano's scarf around his neck and straightened his jacket, fingers lingering a little too long on the hem. This would be the longest Spain and Romano had been away from each other since they had started officially living together. For all they cared, one week might as well have been two years.

He planted two brief kisses on Romano's cheeks and one slightly longer one on his lips that the younger nation sighed into happily. "Mm . . . I love you Spain." The words were quiet but Spain heard them all the same.

"I love you, too Romano," he grinned. "Call me if you need anything, alright?"

"Of course, idiot," Romano replied, breaking away before he could be detained any longer and walking to the car. With one last wave and a blown kiss, he was gone, pulling out of the driveway and speeding recklessly down the road.

Spain watched until his love's fashionably red car was out of sight before walking back into the house with a sigh. He missed him already.

Later, Romano would curse himself, wondering if maybe things would've turned out differently if his traitorous stomach hadn't forced him to pull over at that little café in that equally little town whose name he had long since forgotten. But then he would realize that the events had been so perfectly planned, so perfectly calculated that there had been really no way of avoiding them. Even if he had stayed at Spain's house for the rest of his existence, they would have gotten to him eventually.

Romano parked his car on the curb and slammed the door open (to announce himself of course), stepping daintily up onto the sidewalk. The café wasn't really much to look at. There were a few plastic tables scattered haphazardly in front of it, most of which seemed like they hadn't been used in a long, long while. The shop front was . . . tacky. Or 'quaint' as Spain would probably put it.

Shaking his head to banish thoughts of the bastard from his head, (there was no way he was missing him already) he pulled open the door to the shop with a jingle.

The interior was as equally quaint-_tacky_- as the exterior. And also equally empty. Romano looked around in confusion. The sign on the door had clearly read 'open'.

"Are you lost?" A voice said from behind him. Romano froze. He _knew _that voice. Before he could figure out what that meant for him, a suspiciously wet cloth was being pressed against his nose and Romano felt his eyes slipping closed of their own accord.

"I'm sorry, Romano," a voice hissed in his ear before everything went black.


	2. Brahm's Lullaby

Spain's dreams were filled with blood and darkness and fire. The world was exploding all around him and his people were screaming and crying and praying. Spain prayed too, curled up into a small ball on the ground as flames licked his fingers hungrily. The roars of German planes shook the earth as another deafening explosion decimated a neighborhood. Pieces of the sky were falling, raining down on the survivors as the earth was painted with blood.

It had been a long time since he had dreamt of Guernica.

His eyes flickered open and he shot up, grasping for the little ball of Italian warmth that should have been curled up reassuringly against his side. To his dismay he came up short. With a twisting feeling in his gut, he remembered that Romano had left for his brother's house. It seemed like he still would have to suffer six more days of waking up like this.

With visions of Luftwaffes dancing in his head, Spain completed his morning rituals in a sort of daze. It seemed odd, unnatural even to dress and shower without Romano's constant input.

_"Hurry up, bastard; we're going to be late!"_

_ "You look fine in that, alright? If fact you look better than fine, you look very nice. Obviously because I picked out that outfit for you of course! N-now don't be getting the wrong idea!"_

_ "That's the sleeve you're trying to stick your head through, honey. I mean bastard. Yeah, bastard. Wipe that smirk off you're face, you jerk!"_

_ "No, for the last time, I'm not taking a shower with you! Well, o-okay, maybe if it's short. Stop making that face at me, dammit. I'm only doing this 'cause it'll save time."_

Spain smiled fondly as he padded downstairs, feeling significantly more like his usual cheery self. Maybe he could call Romano! It wouldn't be quite as nice as him actually being there but he missed hearing his love's voice.

He dialed Veneziano's number, pausing to glance at the cupboard where the list of phone numbers was scrawled to remind himself (dear Lord, it _had _been awhile since he's contacted the younger brother) before lifting the receiver to his ear.

The phone rang once before going through and Veneziano's voice practically shouted his ear off. "Oh, Spain! I was just about to call you!"

Wincing slightly, Spain answered, "Is there something wrong, Ita-chan? Is Romano with you?"

"No! He should've arrived this morning but he's still not here!" The poor boy seemed to be on the verge of tears. "What if something horrible has happened to him, ve~? What if he got in a fight? Ve~! What if someone beat him up and left him dead in an alley for the cats to slowly pick away his-"

"I'm sure he's fine." Spain cut him off before he could finish that disturbing image. "You know Roma, he gets distracted easily. He probably stopped at an art museum or something. Just wait a little longer. I . . ." He trailed off, suddenly noticing the piece of paper that had apparently been sitting on the counter this entire time. "One minute, Ita."

_Dear Spain,_

_ Would you like to play a game with me? Of course you would. Especially if it meant the safety of you're precious little tomato. Who, unfortunately, isn't very safe at the moment. I've had him kidnapped by one of my henchman (see, you're not the only one that gets to have henchman, ahahaha!). Romano and my friends are going to be playing some rather nasty little games, games Romano has no chance of winning because he's __all alone_. _You don't want your precious little boyfriend to be __all alone__, do you Spain? I didn't think so! So you better play with me if you want to see him again, at least in one piece. Mostly. I'm afraid by the time you read this my henchman may have already had some fun with him._

_ Since I'm so nice, I'll give you a hint! After all, what fun would this game be if there was no starting point? You're first hint is that he's in Italy! See, aren't I nice?_

_ Love, _

_ Somebody (you really think I'd be stupid enough to give away my name this early in the game? How silly of you!)_

_P.S. I took a picture of Romano so you know he's not dead! It's in the envelope!_

With trembling hands, Spain lowered the note back down to the counter. Beside it was a small red envelope. He opened it, breathing erratic. _Oh God, this was not happening. This couldn't be happening._

Veneziano's voice emanating from the dangling phone sounded frantic. _"Spain! Spain, are you okay? What happened? Spain!"_

Spain ignored him as two slips fell out of the envelope. One was the promised photo of Romano, taken with a Polaroid. Tears came to his eyes as he saw Romano's limp form tied to a chair, a gag in his mouth, his eyes wild and pleading. Blood ran down his face and his shirt was completely soaked through. His mouth was open, as if he was having trouble breathing. The rest of the room was a nondescript white, nothing Spain could possibly go off of. Behind Romano was a small television set, showing today's news. Dense as he was, Spain realized it had been put there to confirm that Romano was still alive.

Someone . . . someone had hurt Romano. Someone had _dared _hurt his precious little Romano. Spain stuffed the picture in his jacket pocket and all but ran out the door; not bothering to turn off the lights or answer Veneziano's distressed cries.

Someone had hurt Romano and he would make sure they would pay.

The second piece of paper was all but forgotten and perhaps that was for the best. On it were ten words written in blood.

"I want you to suffer the same way I suffered."

Romano's head hurt like hell. Why was that? He was fairly certain he hadn't been drinking last night. In fact, now that he was more awake, he realized that his whole body ached. And not in the pleasant way it usually did after a particularly lively night with Spain.

As soon he opened his eyes, the source of his discomfort was evident. He was bound to a chair, arms folded painfully behind him and an uncomfortable gag shoved in his mouth. The room around him was painfully white and empty except for a figure standing by the door.

Romano's panic grew as the events of yesterday flooded back. _Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit._

"Hello, Romano." A spiky haired figure came into view, hands folded behind his back and an uncomfortable expression on his face. _Oh, shit._

_ Netherlands._

He flinched away as Netherlands reached for him and squeezed his eyes shut. Thankfully, however, he felt the gag being loosened and falling away. He opened his eyes again and glared at the man fearfully before launching into a tirade.

"Fucking hell, Netherlands? What sort of sick-ass joke is this? Let me go, goddammit! Spain's _really _gonna kick your ass this time for messing with me! Let me go, you crappy bitch!"

To his dismay, Netherlands didn't seem to be the least bit offended or angered by this display. His eyes dropped apologetically to the floor, something Romano would never have expected from man. "I'm sorry, Romano. This isn't a joke. I wish . . ." his voice broke slightly. "I wish it was. The Boss wanted you captured and so . . . I had to. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Stop apologizing, dammit! Just let me go!" Tears were running down his cheeks now and he inwardly cursed himself. He wasn't some girl or his brother, fucking hell. Netherlands wouldn't hurt him, right? They were friends . . . sort of.

"I can't. The Boss won't let me and I've got to do what he says. He has . . . her." Immediately he glanced around, as if expecting whoever this Boss person was to appear out of thin air. "He has Belgium and he's going to kill her if I don't do what he says."

"Who . . . who is this boss person you keep referring to?" Romano tried to keep his voice from quavering. He was tough, dammit. He could handle this.

"I can't tell you that, Romano. He doesn't want you to know yet." Before Romano could come up with a suitable reply, Netherlands plowed on. "And now I'm going to do some things that . . . that you're not going to like. But I have to do them, you see? I have to do them otherwise he's going to kill Belgium and I'd do anything to save her, Romano." And from within his pocket, he withdrew a knife.

Romano let out a little shriek of fear. "Netherlands! Netherlands, _stop, _you bastard! We're friends, goddammit! We're _friends_! You can't do this to me!" His voice sounded shrill and hysterical.

A flicker of pain registered within Netherlands' eyes. "Please, Romano. Don't make this harder than it has to be. It'll be over quick, I promise. I just need to draw some blood, you see? That's all he wants for now. That's all he wants." And with that he sunk the knife into Romano's left shoulder.

Romano screamed shamelessly as the serrated knife sliced easily through his beige shirt and blood began to flow from the wound, staining the garment red. "_Help! _Goddammit, someone _help_! _Please! _Spain! Veneziano! _Spain! _Come save me please! _Help!_" His eyes widened as Netherlands yanked the knife away and brought it back, this time slicing just above the elbow. The pain was nearly unbearable and he felt himself starting to fade in and out of consciousness.

His torturer withdrew the knife again, and Romano's voice began to grow hoarse. He tried to tell himself that he'd endured worse. He had suffered through worse. The end of WWII, for instance. That had been worse. He tried to focus on that but found it hard when he caught sight of his terrified reflection in the knife blade. "Please . . . don't do this Netherlands. Please.

Netherlands paused, hands shaking. "Just a little blood . . . just a little blood. That's all he wants . . . that's all he wants." He cried out in anguish, as if he were the one being hacked at with a blade. "I can't do this, Boss! I can't do this!" The knife fell from his hands, spraying blood onto both of their faces. It clattered to the floor with a sharp ringing sound.

A computer generated voice cut through the pain clouding Romano's mind as he fought to stay conscious.

_"That is . . . alright, Netherlands. The more you do it, the easier it will get. I will forgive you this time and I will keep your sister alive. I am a kind boss."_

"Th-thank you," Netherlands gasped. "Thank you so much."

Romano's body stiffened. Did that mean . . . did that mean this wasn't the end? _No. _He would have cried out if he still had any voice left.

_"Move the television in here and turn it on. I need a picture to send to Spain to confirm that he is indeed still alive. He might not be willing to play my game if he thinks his little Roma is already dead. Knock him out afterwards with the blunt end of the blade. We'll wake him up next time we need him."_

"Understood, Boss," Netherlands whimpered and Romano felt sick to his stomach. Who could have broken this once mighty nation so badly?

As the door closed behind Netherlands, Romano let his head droop as he tried to ignore the immense pain radiating from his arm. Spain . . . Spain would save him. Spain always saved him.

He better get here soon.

_A/n I probably won't be updating at this rate regularly but I really wanted to put this chapter up since I got some many subscription notifications. Thank you guys so much. :) I wasn't sure if anyone was going to read this._

_ Anyways, sorry for making Netherlands so OOC here but I'm sure you can understand why. I love him quite a lot but he's sort of necessary to the plot._

_ Reviews are appreciated! Thank you guys again!_


	3. Toora Loora Loora

It wasn't that Finland didn't _like _living with Sweden. Su-san was a very kind and loving person, once you got around the whole 'intimidating aura' bit. He made Finland feel safe. Finland just thought he would have enjoyed it more if he felt as if he had a choice in the matter.

After escaping from Denmark's house, he had assumed he would simply return to his house in his own country. But it had become painfully obvious that was going to be impossible with all the intimidating nations surrounding him (especially creepy Mr. Russia. _He's so creepy!_). And so he had stayed with Su-san, despite the fact that he called him his 'wife' and despite the fact that all of his friends were afraid of him. It had seemed like the best idea at the time.

Soon, however, nations began to fall apart and once mighty empires became nothing more than the bygone dreams of a glorious era. Things had seemed more stable, stable enough that maybe Finland could finally go home.

When he had broached the idea to his housemate, (Finland could not bring himself to call him his 'husband) the heartbroken look Sweden had given him was enough to send him into throes of guilt. It had been then Finland realized that perhaps Su-san really _did _love him. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. So he stayed.

And then Hanatamago came along, the dog that both of them owned, connecting them as something more than housemates. It almost made them a little family unit. A husband, a wife, a dog and a house that the two of them shared. All they were missing was a kid.

When Sealand arrived, Finland found himself taking on even more housewife-like duties. Su-san and he raised the child together, provided him with love and food and a roof over his head. Sweden was a doting father and Finland did his level best to follow his example. But something seemed off.

Finally, after all those years, he realized what it was: Finland had never once told Sweden he loved him. He _couldn't _tell Sweden he loved him because he wasn't sure himself. Sure, Su-san showered him with affection, but to put it frankly he could be _terrifying. _In fact, Finland still didn't know if Sweden did it on purpose or couldn't help his constant menacing aura.

Because Finland lived in Sweden's house, he felt safe from the rest of the world. But he still didn't feel safe from Sweden.

"I love ya." Finland flinched, as he always did when he heard those words spoken with such longing and meaning.

"Goodnight, Su-san," he sighed into a pillow. The two shared a room, but not a bed (at Finland's insistence of course). He waited for the rustling of covers that signified that Su-san was going to sleep as well. They never came.

"Are ya h'ppy h're, F'nl'nd?"

His breath caught in his throat as he fumbled to find a suitable reply. But he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't be a lie. So he pretended to be asleep.

_I never expected him to ask me something like that. I suppose I should've. _

"I kn'w y're aw'ke," Sweden's voice was tinged by crushing sadness. Finland felt something inside him break. There was a sound of covers being thrown off and two feet thudding to the floor. He heard rustling as Sweden put on his clothes.

"Where are you going?" Finland asked fearfully.

"'m leavin'."

"Why?" Finland already knew the answer.

"I love ya," Sweden's voice almost broke and it seemed an octave higher than usual. "And I d'n't want ta make ya unh'ppy or unc'mf'table. So 'm g'nna give ya s'me sp'ce f'r awh'le. G'night."

He walked to the door and paused, as if hoping Finland would say something to stop him from leaving. But he remained silent. With a heavy sigh, Sweden walked out the door.

Finland would regret that moment for the rest of his life.

Spain's boss slammed his fist on the desk angrily, glaring at the defiant nation across from him. "No way! You have duties as a nation that _can not _be neglected. This country is in enough financial trouble as it is without you running off after him."

"Screw my duties!" growled Spain. He didn't like getting angry, but this man was infuriating him beyond belief. "Romano is a priority right now and I will not rest until I rescue him!"

"Relationships between nations mean nothing without political backing," his boss hissed. "It's the Italian government's job to get him back, not yours. From what I've heard, he's pretty useless anyway. Doesn't his brother take care of most foreign affairs? I thought he was just a punching bag for the mafia to ensure his more _politically important _brother didn't get damaged."

Spain stood up, shaking with rage. "_What _did you just say about my Romano?"

Any other human would be easily intimidated by the usually easy-going nation's rage (hell, most _nations _would be), but Spain's boss was not most humans. "Think about, Spain. Who is more important; that brat or your people? Last time I checked, a nation's duty was to their people and not other nations. It's your _people _that you should be looking out for. You can't be the hero for everyone."

Spain thought back to a time not so long ago, when he had held a crying Romano close to his chest and promised him that he loved him more than anything in the world. He'd said it with utmost certainty, never really thinking about his people at all. His people were him, yes. But Romano was his whole world. Those words were no less true now than they were then.

He started walking towards the door. "My people are strong. They can handle themselves for a little while. I've changed my mind; I don't want your help."

"Don't you dare walk out of this room, Spain!" his boss roared. "Don't you dare disobey me!"

But Spain was already gone.

Spain sped down the streets of Florence, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly and beeping furiously at whoever got in his way. Romano had taught him to drive like this but he'd never thought he'd ever have a reason to use it.

He turned sharply onto a boulevard that housed only one dwelling: the mansion where Veneziano (and formerly Romano) lived. Storming out of the tomato-stem-green convertible, he ran up the steps and knocked furiously on the door. If he had been in a calmer state of mind, he would've stopped to admire the elegant landscaping and architecture of the ancient house. It was painted a charming blue with sported three towers that jutted aesthetically off the top. In the front was a garden filled with an assortment of vegetables arranged in rows.

A disgruntled Veneziano answered the door, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Oh, _ciao _Spain. Ve~ I was just taking a siesta."

Momentarily furious that Veneziano could even _contemplate _sleeping at a time like this, Spain forced himself to remain calm. After all, he hadn't received that . . . that _letter_. "I need to talk to you about Romano. Can I come in?"

The younger brother's usually closed eyes widened briefly in shock. "Ve~ Romano? Did you find him? Has something happened to him? Is he dead?"

Spain ignored the painful clenching in his stomach at the thought and produced the letter. He handed it to Veneziano wordlessly. The young nation took it and read it over quickly.

Letting out a wail, Veneziano dropped the letter. "Romano . . . Romano was kidnapped? Ve~ Brother Spain we have to find him!"

Even to Spain, that seemed painfully obvious. "Yes, Ita-chan, we have to find him. I was hoping you could help. The letter did say he was in Italy."

Veneziano brightened considerably. "Of course I'll help you find him! Ve~ I know Italy like the back of my . . .uh . . ."

"Hand?" supplied Spain helpfully.

"I was going to say eyelids but that works too I guess. Ve~" Suddenly he began bouncing about excitedly. "Brother Spain, I just thought of something!"

Spain sighed impatiently, feeling all the more glad that Austria hadn't agreed to trade Veneziano for Romano all those years ago. "Yes, Ita?"

"Did you take that letter to the special men with the white coats who dust for fingerprints in the shows that Germany always makes me watch with him even though they're scary? I bet they could find out who took Romano!"

Vaguely surprised that Veneziano could think that far ahead, Spain replied, "Yes, Ita. I did. There were no fingerprints or DNA samples on it at all." Something occurred to him. "Hey, Ita, where's Germany? Isn't he usually with you?"

He flinched as if stung. "I don't wanna talk about it, ve~. Germany's been acting strange recently. I don't think . . . I don't think Germany wants to see me right now."

"Oh," Spain sighed in disappointment. Germany could've been a great asset in finding Romano. Of course Ita and Germany would be in the middle of one of their fights at a time like this. "Well, let's get going. We need to find Romano as quickly as possible. Oh . . . here, do you want to see the picture of Romano?" He withdrew it from his jacket pocket and handed it to Veneziano.

Spain immediately regretted it as Veneziano's eyes began to fill with tears. "Who could do this to big brother?" he cried. "Who would want to hurt him like that? Big brother Spain, I haven't seen him like that since the War. We have to find him, ve~! Romano's always been the strongest; I don't want to see him like that!"

_I don't want to see him like that, either_, thought Spain, feeling tears prick at his own eyes. The quicker they got to him, the better. Despite Veneziano's uselessness, he was glad he'd asked him for help. It was nice to have someone on his side who loved Romano almost as much as he did.

Romano's arm and shoulder felt like they were on fire, and he wondered vaguely if the wounds would become infected. Dried blood nearly blinded his right eye and he was in no position to wipe it off. Even if he was, he probably wouldn't have had the strength to move his arm that much. The bread Netherlands had force-fed him was nowhere near enough to stave off his hunger pangs and the pain kept him awake.

He felt like crying, but he was all out of tears. Not that it would've helped anyway. At least they hadn't tortured him again.

Tugging weakly at his bonds, Romano felt his last shreds of hope and dignity peeling away like old paint. He had been a prisoner during the War, but it was nothing like this. At least he had had the freedom to move then. Now . . . now he felt so utterly helpless it made him sick. He was at the complete mercy of Netherlands and his boss. And they had not tortured him during the War. They knew better than to do that to a nation.

Spain . . . he would do anything to have Spain burst through the door and rescue him like the damsel in distress he was. He could almost picture him now, swinging his halberd, his green eyes burning with protective rage. Spain was strong. Spain was powerful. Netherlands and his wimpy boss would be no match for him when he finally got here.

He was jerked out of his pleasant daydream as the door on the other side of the room opened to reveal Netherlands. If he had been stronger, Romano would've growled at him, but he was too weak and too terrified to attempt it.

Instead of a torture instrument like he had expected, Netherlands was carrying a bowl full of . . . was that pasta? Romano's stomach rumbled hungrily as the smell drifted near him.

Emotionlessly, Netherlands untied his bonds and pressed the bowl and a fork into Romano's trembling hands. "The Boss wants you to have this. He said you'd be hungry."

Romano glared at the spaghetti suspiciously for a few seconds before overwhelming hunger got the better of his doubt. He began to eat carefully, surprised at how delicious it was.

He had not gotten past the fifth bite before he double over, howling in pain as fire exploded brutally in his stomach. His insides felt like they were burning.

_Damn those fuckers._

A/n Yay! I finally got Sweden and Finland in there! (Writing Sweden's way of talking is annoying) I was going to add in Denmark and Norway as well but this chapter got a little too long.

Let me express my heartfelt gratitude to everyone who reviewed and added this story to their alerts and favorites! I'm really grateful you all like this story so much!

And now I have two questions for you:

Do you guys want PruHun in this? Because I don't actually have that plot line all planned out yet but I don't want to disappoint anyone.

And also, are the chapters too short?

Thanks again and remember to review, review, review!


	4. Rockabye Baby

A/n: This chapter is the last of me introducing POVs (well except for Sweden and the Boss ahahaha~).

I've decided not to add in PruHun, but Prussia now has his own arc! :) Also look out for some hints in this chapter! I felt you guys deserved them after all those kind reviews. *wipes away happy tear*)

Xxx

Demark slipped his hand in Norway's, humming happily. "Nice day, isn't it?"

His lover glared at him suspiciously but did not draw his hand away. "You're not being as obnoxious as usual. What's wrong?"

Denmark feigned a hurt expression. "Is it so wrong for someone to want to take their boyfriend out for a quiet walk in the woods?"

"For you it is," Norway harrumphed. "You're idea of fun is more the 'hey, Norway, you wanna go pillaging like the old days? I _know _it's not exactly legal but hey! It's not like they can arrest us, right?'"

"Wow," Denmark tilted his head, surprised at the accurate mimicry of his voice. "Where'd ya learn to do that?"

"Too much time hanging around idiots, I guess," Norway grunted.

"Aww, you know you love me," smirked Denmark, planting a kiss on his love's cheek. Norway blushed and turned his head, planting a chaste kiss on his lips.

The spiky haired Nordic threw his arm around Norway's shoulders happily. "I'm so lucky to have such a cute boyfriend."

Norway poked him. "Don't call me that. You sound like a teenage girl."

"_Pfffft_, that doesn't sound like a teenage girl. _This _sounds like a teenage girl," Denmark made his voice high and squeaky. "Ohmigosh, my boyfriend is, like, so totally _cute_! Becky's gonna be way jealous when she sees us making out. She was totally eying him this morning. I'm totes not gonna invite her to my party this year!"

Norway covered his mouth, trying-and failing- to stop his giggles from becoming too loud. "You sound like Poland!"

Denmark did a valley girl wave. "Ohmigosh, Poland is, like, totally my biffle!"

Norway grabbed his arm to stop him from falling over and Denmark took the chance to sweep him off his feet and carry him bridal style. "Fear not, beautiful maiden! I shall protect you from the dangers of this forest!"

Norway rested his head on Denmark's chest, smiling a little. It was nice, just the two of them like this. Too often their rare romantic moments were interrupted, mainly by-

"Ice?" Denmark's voice sounded confused. "What are you doing here?"

Norway raised his head and saw a lone figure standing at the end of the clearing. It had familiar silvery hair and its violet eyes shown menacingly. It also seemed to be carrying a shotgun. Norway struggled in Denmark's grip, forcing the stronger nation to put him down.

Iceland approached them, raising the shotgun and pointing it at Denmark's chest. He gestured his head towards Norway. "Give him to me."

Denmark laughed nervously, "Ice, what are you talking about? How did you find us, anyway? This forest is pretty off the map and-"

Iceland fired a warning shot next to Denmark's feet. "Give him to me, right now."

Before Norway could make a move, Denmark stepped in front of him, holding his arms out protectively. "Iceland, what are you talking about-"

Another shot rang out, this time finding its mark.

"_Iceland!_"

Xxx

The house was too damn quiet.

Prussia flicked through channels absently, occasionally shooting glances towards Germany's door. It wasn't like him to stay cooped up in his room for this long, he was Germany after all, not some sulky teenager. Whatever had happened with Italy must've been bad to make him act this unawesome.

"West!" he called half-heartedly. "I found a show on dog breeding! Wanna come out and watch it with me?" The show was actually SpongeBob but that was beside the point. His brother probably wasn't coming out anyway.

Prussia waited a few minutes before realizing no response was forthcoming. He sighed and got up, stretching like a cat. "Well, I'm gonna go eat cake for dinner! Want some?" Usually the thought of his brother not following the strict rules he imposed on their household was enough to get him to come out.

There was a slight sound from within the bedroom, but nothing else. Prussia sighed again before walking to the kitchen. He pulled open the fridge and pulled out the remainder of some black forest cake Austria had brought over awhile ago. Closing the door with his hip, he glanced at the two phone numbers scrawled there. Maybe he could call France or Spain and they could go out for drinks or something. He gave a soft smile and set the cake down on the table. Romano was out of town, right? Spain was probably lonely without his precious 'tesoro.' He cut the cake happily. He'd call them right after this. It was nice . . . to have friends, he thought. Sure, they'd had their ups and downs but all friends did.

He munched on the cake thoughtfully. And they were certainly good for times like this, when West was having his 'Italy-problems' and he needed someone to talk to. Spain was the epitome of kindness and France was a great listener (when he wasn't trying to grope you, that is).

Gilbird fluttered up on the table, chirping incessantly and rubbing his head against Prussia's hands. "What is it, chicky?" he cooed, scratching him under the beak.

A loud shattering sound came from the other side of the house and he jumped to his feet. "West? Are you okay?" He sprinted out of the kitchen towards West's bedroom, abandoning his cake and Gilbird.

"Get back here," a commanding voice growled from behind him.

Prussia froze before spinning around to face the intruder, who was standing silhouetted against the remains of one of their parlor room windows. A knife was clutched tightly in their hand, along with a length of rope. The remains of the glass were scattered at their feet, glinting sharply.

"Haven't you caused enough trouble?" he asked, gaze straying to the knife clutched in the other's hand. He was not afraid, just cautious. This guy was a loose cannon. "If you'd just knocked I'd have happily let you in. What's gotten into you lately?"

The person brandished the knife at Prussia, growling angrily. "I discovered something I should have been told a long time ago and now I want revenge. These years since the War have all been lies and no one bothered to tell me. Look at this!" They held out their arm and Prussia could see it becoming slightly transparent. "This is what happens to unloved nations that no one needs anymore."

"I . . ." Prussia began brokenly. "I still care about you!"

The other nation toyed with the end of the knife. "Yes, but do you love me?"

The albino glanced fearfully towards Germany's door, willing it to open. "I don't know."

"Well, then. That's all I needed to hear." They jumped him with speed Prussia didn't know they possessed. They slammed the handle of the knife into the side of his head, causing his vision to blur as they grasped his hands and began to tie them behind his back.

"West!" he cried before a crack to the head rendered him unconscious.

"No one needs you anymore," the sinister voice of someone he had once adored whispered in his ear. "It's about time you realized that."

Xxx

Romano writhed on the ground as poison shot through his body. Sweat drenched his brow and his eyes grew wide and unfocused. He should've known not to take anything from them! Dammit! It felt like little demons were tearing up the lining of his stomach and wrapping their claws around his lungs. He gasped for breath but couldn't quite get it as screams wracked through him. His voice finally began to give out and he coughed up blood onto the floor.

The pain started to subside a little before he felt someone's boot connect with his chest. More agony engulfed him when he heard the tell-tale snapping oh his ribs. Blood dribbled down his chin and he mewled feebly.

"You really are as stupid as everyone says," said a condescending voice. "Really, it took you about two seconds to take the bait."

_Estonia?_

The bespectacled Baltic crouched down at Romano's eye level, scrutinizing him as if he were a lab rat. Romano wanted to spit in his face but it was all he could do to draw air in his lungs.

"The poison won't kill you," he sneered. "The Boss wants you alive because he has something very special in store for you. But that can wait a little while, at least until your boyfriend gets here to 'save you.'"

Romano tensed and in a rare case of self sacrifice, mumbled, "Don't you dare hurt him."

Estonia looked surprised, and then laughed. "How sweet. I thought you Italians were supposed to be cowards."

Romano's indignant growl was cut off by a fit of bloody coughing.

"I was just playing with you a little bit," Estonia flashed him a sadistic smile. "But now I'm afraid I must take my leave. There's one last nation my colleagues have yet to pick up and it has fallen to me to go _collect _him. Good day." He straightened up and kicked Romano one last time before walking swiftly out of the room.

Fighting off tears, South Italy lay spread eagled in the center of the room as pain curled like a hungry dragon in his stomach and ravaged his chest and lungs. It occurred to him briefly that Estonia had not even bothered to close the door, but escape was more lost to him now than ever.

Xxx

"That's it, I'm leaving." Spain stood abruptly, causing the few other customers at the small Italian café he'd been waiting at to give him odd looks. _Two hours_. It had been _two hours _since Veneziano had run back to his house, saying "Ve~, big brother Spain! I'll be right back! I just need to get some supplies!"

Two hours that Romano's kidnappers could be torturing him or worse.

And now, as if he didn't have enough problems, he'd gotten a text from France informing him that Norway, Denmark, Iceland, Estonia, Sweden, Belgium and Netherlands had also gone missing recently.

The countries were beginning to panic, wondering if they or one of their friends would be the next on the kidnappers' hit list. According to France, they had called a world meeting to address the matter. Neither Spain nor Veneziano would be attending. Nothing ever got done at those meetings and, while Spain had been content to sit by before, he'd decided that immediate action needed to be taken where Romano was concerned. He'd already emailed France a picture of the note, so it would be fine.

Just as some tell-tale 've~s' signified Veneziano's arrival, Spain's phone began to go off (it may or may not have been 'Buono Tomato'). He lifted it to his ear only to have it nearly blown off for the second time that day.

"_Spain! _Where is my brother? He's gone! _Please tell me you and France broke into our house and took him!_ Where is he, goddamit?" Germany's voice sounded desperate and pleading in sharp contrast to his usual commanding tone.

Spain sighed heavily. He should've just turned his phone off and gone alone. But now Prussia was missing . . .

"I'm searching for Romano now," he breathed. "But . . . I'll help find Prussia too." He needed to save Romano as quickly as possible. However, it seemed Prussia needed saving to. With any luck they'd be at the same place. "I'm at a café in Florence, Italy down the road from Ita's house. You can come meet me there." _He shouldn't have answered the goddam phone._

"Ve~ Who are you talking to, big brother Spain?"

A/n 2: Cliffhanger! Yay! I hope that answered some of your questions and gave you some more hints as to who the Boss is.

Now that I read this over, the sections seem painfully short. I promise that they'll get longer now that I'm done introducing POVs (mostly). What'd you guys think of the DenNor fluff? It's the first time I've written them.

Reviews make me update faster! *winkwinknudgenudge* Thanks for reading!


	5. Lullaby For a Stormy Night

_A/n Reading all your fabulous reviews make me pleasure smile. :D (jeez, I haven't put Russia in this fic at all, have I? Shame on me, you can't spell torture fic without Russia after all! Oh wait, yes you can.)_

_I've been trying to reply to every review but I'm pretty sure I forgot a couple people. Eheheheh~ I'd go back and check but that'd make it even a longer wait for this chapter! And you don't want that, do you?_

_On another note, I have another warning for this fic! There will be character death in this fic. It is a horror, after all. :3 However, Spain and Roma get a happy ending. _

_Also, this chapter is where the M rating really comes in. There's some very graphic violence and language plus a bit of gore. Anyone who's really squeamish may want to skim over the Netherlands and Romano part. I did say there was going to be torture!_

_Enjoy this chapter! _

"Who are you talking to, big brother Spain?" Veneziano repeated when Spain simply stared at him.

"Is that . . . is that Italy?" Germany sounded distinctly uncomfortable.

Spain nodded before realizing Germany couldn't see him. "Uh, yeah. Is that a problem?" Veneziano tilted his head cutely and made and questioning ve~ noise.

"No . . . not really," said Germany in a tone the said that _yes_, it certainly was a problem clearly enough for even someone challenged with reading the atmosphere in the room to understand. "I'll just go and search for my bruder on my own. Thank you for your assistance, Spain." The line went dead.

With an uncharacteristic sigh, Spain snapped the phone shut and slipped it into his back pocket. "That was Germany. What happened between you two, anyway?"

Veneziano stiffened. "I'd rather not talk about it, ve~."

Spain frowned. "Come on, Ita-chan. You can tell me! I'm sure whatever happened can be patched up as easily as-"

"I _said _I didn't want to talk about it!" Veneziano snapped and Spain flinched in surprise.

He rested a comforting hand on Veneziano's shoulder and flashed his trademark smile. "Alright, Ita-chan. I'm sorry for bringing it up. So where are the supplies you were getting?"

The little Italian quickly reverted back to his usual cheeriness. He picked up the backpack he had left on the ground and held it open for Spain to see. "I brought lots and lots of pasta, ve~! In case we get hungry while we search! Oh, and also I brought some rice balls Japan made for me a few days ago! They're so yummy, they make my tummy go yay! Ahahaha~! That rhymed, ve~!"

"It took _two hours _for you to get food from your house?" Spain asked doubtfully. Dammit, they could've found Romano already!

Veneziano nodded, all seriousness. "Uh huh. There were lots of types to choose from and I couldn't decide between rigatoni and penne, so I just ended up taking both! Isn't that funny, ve~?"

Spain narrowed his eyes at the younger Italy. Was this what people meant when they said his elevator didn't go up to the top floor? "Whatever, Ita-chan. Let's get going."

Xxx

Romano felt his arms being seized as he was lifted back into the cursed chair. His bonds were reaffixed by practiced hands and he moaned in pain as his rib cage began throbbing again. He had vomited several times as his system rid itself of the poisoned pasta but the agony of his broken bones was still very real and very present.

He raised his head slightly and found himself staring into Netherlands' expressionless face. _Oh no. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh son of a flying FUCK._ His heart began to beat a little faster as Netherlands left him, exiting the room. He returned a moment later, carrying a card table with its legs half sawed off under his left arm and a . . . Romano began to feel a little dizzy. Was that hammer? Tears started to prick at the corners of his eyes and he willed himself not to cry. This wasn't happening. This was a nightmare. Soon he would wake up safe in Spain's arms. He couldn't handle this anymore.

Romano opened his mouth to plea for mercy but was stopped by a hand covering his mouth. Netherlands was trembling. "Please . . . don't say a word."

He set up the table in front of the chair and gripped one of Romano's legs, lifting it up onto the flat surface. Romano struggled desperately, head whipping from side to side but Netherlands was too strong. He took a roll of duct tape and began securing the leg to the table, setting the hammer on the floor. After what felt like an eternity, he was done. He stepped back and observed his handiwork. Then he left again, leaving Romano to whimper softly.

After what felt like an eternity, he returned with a cassette player which he set up next to the chair. He switched it on.

"The Boss wants to record you . . . screaming," Netherlands said by way of explanation. "He's going to send it to Spain so the game can hurry along a little faster. He says it'll be the perfect . . . incentive. I'm sorry, Romano."

Romano was about to ask about this 'game' but he never got the chance. Netherlands was raising the hammer above his prone leg. Panic taking hold, he began to wriggle around, desperately trying to bring his limb out of harm's way. "No, Netherlands! Please!"

Netherlands brought the tool down with the force of a nation hardened by centuries of war and hard manual labor. It connected with his femur and Romano screamed as he felt the bone shatter. Blood seeped through his pants and a jagged piece of bone poke out from under the thin fabric.

Romano screamed and screamed and screamed, body shaking. He'd never felt pain like this before. Not even during WWII, when Germany had invaded him after their surrender and held him prisoner for a month. Driven by fear and the knowledge that they were on the losing side, the German shoulders had not been kind with their punishments, ranging from whippings to beatings. But this . . . you were not allowed to treat a nation like this.

And then Netherlands was raising the hammer again. "Spain!" he cried. "God, Spain! Please help! Please, Spain, ple-_agh_!" The hammer crashed down once again, this time right below his knee cap, turning the lower part of his leg into a bloody pulp. Once again, Romano's lungs felt as if they were going to give out but he _could not stop screaming._

"I'm so sorry! Whoever's doing this, I'm so sorry! _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!_ Whatever I did, I'm sorry! I can fix it! _I can fix it! _I don't want to die! I don't want to die! _Spain! _I so sorry Spain! I love you! _Fuck!_ _I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die!_ _Veneziano! I'm so-ack!_" His garbled speech became animalistic cries as Netherlands slammed the end of the hammer into Romano's ribcage, cracking another few ribs.

Netherlands dropped the hammer to the floor a he backed away from the carnage. He grabbed the tape out of the player and ran from the room. He didn't bother saying sorry. There was nothing words could do to redeem him now.

Xxx

"Big brother Spain!"

Spain turned around slowly. _Oh god, if it's another fucking weirdly shaped caterpillar or he's hungry again I swear I'm going to _set him on fire. _Why did I bring him? To think I wanted to trade him for Romano once . . . How did Austria live with this kid?_

"A strange man gave me this!" He was holding up a cassette tape with a note taped to it. "He said it was for you! Maybe it's from Romano's kidnappers!"

In the past two hours they had been walking the streets of Florence, Veneziano had stopped three times to receive kisses on the cheek from women, five times for one of the shop vendors to give him small gifts, two times to give children candies he apparently kept in his pocket and once to help a cat stuck in a tree. All very nice under normal circumstances, but a little inappropriate considering his brother was missing.

Spain seized him roughly by the shoulders, shaking him. "Do you even _care _that Romano is missing? He's you're brother, _goddammit_! Can't you at least act like you want to save him? He could be being _tortured _at this very moment and you stop to take gifts from strangers and help cats out of trees! What is _wrong _with you, Veneziano? No wonder Romano never wanted to go home! I know he wasn't the easiest person to deal with, but at least he cared about you!"

Veneziano's eyes filled with tears and he sank to the ground, clutching the tape to his chest. Spain felt a pang of guilt, but it needed to be said.

"I'm sorry, big brother Spain! I _do _care about Romano! I _do _want to save him! But it's hard for me to accept that he's been kidnapped by someone that we probably know! I don't want to think about what's happening to Romano right now because if I do . . . I don't know! Romano is my other half and even though he hasn't always been there for me, I haven't exactly always been there for him either! In fact, I've _never _been there for him! He might . . . he might die not knowing that I loved him." He sniveled miserably, pulling his thick winter coat around him tightly.

"Oh . . . I'm sorry, Ita. I'm so sorry." He pulled Veneziano into a comforting brotherly hug. "It's okay, I'm just stressed. I love Romano too, don't you forget that. We're gonna find him no matter what."

Veneziano nodded, letting Spain help him up. "I promise I'll stop getting distracted so easily."

"And I promise I'll try and keep my temper with you. Now can I see that cassette?" The younger Italy handed it to him and he carefully removed the note, unfolding it and trying to still his sense of dread.

The handwriting was much different from last time and the note was more to the point. There were red marks on the sides. Spain felt slightly queasy. Was that blood?

_The Boss wanted to give me this to you. It's a recording of Romano. The Boss wants you to start playing the game a little faster. He's getting impatient and an impatient Boss spells trouble for all of us. I'm sorry. I know we've had our disagreements in the past, but this has nothing to do with them. I know you can't forgive me, so I won't ask for your forgiveness._ _I don't deserve it_.

Spain let the note flutter to the ground. When he spoke, his voice was cold and terrified. "Ita, did you see where this strange went?"

Xxx

Sweden had not been to this spot in a long time. He looked around the clearing and heaved a sigh. Not the most comfortable place to spend the night but it was better than sleeping next to Finland.

He sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands. Why . . . why didn't Finland love him? They had been through so much together. Sweden was nothing but kind and loving towards him and yet still he pushed him away. Was it because of his terrifying aura? He'd been told before that he was intimidating but surely Finland knew by now that he wasn't _trying _to come off as threating?

Or was it . . . Maybe Finland loved someone else? He was pretty friendly with Estonia and he did visit him a lot. Sweden felt something foreign twist in his stomach. Was that jealousy? No, of course not! There was no way he'd be jealous of _Estonia _of all people! After all, Finland lived with _him_ not that mochi-collecting nerd!

But what if Finland wanted to live with Estonia instead?

Sweden was so lost in his own little world he didn't notice the faint rustling in the bushes until it was too late.

_Much _too late.

_A/n Look at these updates! They're pretty much flying off the presses you lucky turtle-ducks, you. My apologies for the brevity of Sweden's part. There really wasn't much else to put plus I was looking at the Pervy Estonia meme and it's hard to write him as a bad guy when you're giggling about crap like that._

_I'm pretty happy with this chapter. The last one was kinda crappy so I'm posting this one early to make up for it._

_Anyroad, REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW. Lots of reviews=motivation to post fast updates._

_Thanks for reading, and sorry if I made anyone cry over poor Roma. I really hated writing that scene but I'm happy with how it turned out._

_Ciao!_


	6. Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

It had been easy enough to locate a cassette player, one of Veneziano's merchants was more than happy to supply them with one. Spain and Veneziano had carried it to the remains of one of Romano's old cottages he'd kept on the outskirts of Florence. He'd used it as a getaway when he wanted to work on paintings without Veneziano's constant input or Spain's enthused cooing.

Spain bit his lip as he stared at the collapsing roof and rubble surrounding the structure. There were several holes in the roof that sunbeams shone through, dappling the dusty floor and illuminating the charred shapes of blackened canvases and painting supplies. Spain himself was (inadvertently) the cause of this ruin. The mafia had burnt it to the ground after Romano went against them to save him when he'd fallen ill with economic depression. Romano had still been inside it. Luckily, he escaped with nothing but minor burns.

Spain picked up a piece of a canvas and turned it over in his hands. He'd never really thanked Romano for doing that for him. Spain must've meant a lot to him, even before they'd become a couple. Enough to fight what he feared most. Which is why Spain was going to do the same for him. He'd do anything to keep Romano safe.

"Ve~, big brother Spain?" Veneziano's questioning voice cut through his thoughts.

"Yes, Ita-chan?" He dropped the canvas and walked over to where Veneziano was fiddling with the tape player.

"When is the World Meeting going to be over?" North Italy did not look up from his task but worry was threaded through the words.

"Uh," Spain checked his watch. "Probably around one a.m. They usually take awhile and this one was called later in the day."

"Did you send them the note?" Veneziano succeeded in snapping the tape into place.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well then we better find big brother soon. Once they know he's in Italy, this place is going to be swarmed with people searching for him. They may not consider him as important nation-wise, but if his people were to find out he was kidnapped . . ." he trailed off meaningfully. "That's why I suggested we listen to the tape here, ve~. We need to keep this quiet. I'm sure that's what they're doing for the other missing countries."

Momentarily shocked by Veneziano's rare burst of insight, he nodded. "You're right. Hopefully this recording will give us more of a clue."

Without another word, Veneziano pressed play.

_"The Boss wants to record you . . . screaming. He's going to send it to Spain so the game can hurry along a little faster. He says it'll be the perfect . . . incentive. I'm sorry, Romano." _Netherlands' voice floated out of the tinny speakers and Spain's voice caught in his throat. Netherlands? Why would he do this to them? They' never been on the best of terms but he wasn't a bad person! Oh god, what was he going to do with his Romano?

_"No, Netherlands! Please!" _Romano sounded so . . . broken. Veneziano was trembling beside him and Spain wanted to reach through the speakers and hold his love.

There was sharp crack and then the screaming began. _"Spain! God, Spain! Please help! Please Spain, ple-agh!" _There were sobs mixed in with the screams now and Spain's stomach twisted painfully. Oh, god _Romano! _How could someone do that to him? How could someone hurt something so precious? _Romano! _His tomato, his love, his world. The thought of anything happening to him . . . it was sickening. Spain reached forward to turn of the tape, deciding he'd had enough. Veneziano grabbed his wrist, stopping him. And so the tape rolled on.

Another crack. _"I'm so sorry! Whoever's doing this, I'm so sorry! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Whatever I did, I'm sorry! I can fix it! I can fix it! I don't want to die! I don't want to die! Spain! I'm so sorry, Spain! I love you! Fuck! I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die! Veneziano! I'm so-ack!" _His words melted together into one long scream that seemed to last forever before finally trailing away into hoarse coughs. There was a sound of metal on concrete and the tape ended.

Spain simply stood there, speechless. Every word had been a knife to his heart. Romano . . . Romano had been calling out to him to save him and yet he _had not been there_. He hadn't been there when his love had needed him the most. He sank to his knees, tears spilling from his eyes for the first time since he had received that note. He was so useless, so worthless. He wanted to find Netherlands and strangle the life out of him. He wanted to find this 'Boss' person and chop their head clean off with his ax. But he couldn't do any of that. _Because he didn't know where Romano was. _

The idea of Romano in so much pain was horrifying. His mind kept thinking back to when Romano was younger and under his care. He'd been so small then, so innocent and helpless. He'd been foul mouthed and maybe he hadn't shown his appreciation as much as Spain would've liked but he was thoughtful when in counted and didn't mean half the cruel words he said. His young charge . . . hurt and with no one there to help him. At least back then, Spain had been able to take the brunt of attacks against him. He'd been able to fight for Romano. But now his love was all alone.

There was a loud crash and Spain looked up to see Veneziano had kicked the tape player into the wall, effectively destroying it. Anger burned brightly in his eyes, which were now wide open and looking downright menacing.

"I'm going to kill that sonofabitch," he growled. The younger Italy turned around and walked out of the abandoned building, fists trembling with rage. "I'm going to _kill _him!" And then Veneziano was gone, running with speed that matched the acceleration he achieved when running from the British.

Spain could only stare after him with tears running down his cheeks.

Xxx

The world meeting was a morose affair and Finland was glad that it was quickly approaching the end. Sweden was missing and he couldn't help feel responsible. If only he'd followed him when he left. . . Finland shook his head unhappily. There was no point in thinking like that. After all, he was going to search for Su-san immediately after this got over.

The number present was lower than it had ever been. In addition to Romano, Spain, Veneziano, Estonia, Norway, Netherlands, Iceland and Belgium, a few other assorted nations had missed the meeting. Prussia had been kidnapped and Germany was out looking for him. Hungary and Austria were also gone, but they'd called in and said Austria was sick and Hungary was nursing him. Greece was still bedridden due to his economy's current financial trouble. Russia, Latvia and Lithuania were also not present but no one batted an eye at that. Russia was often missing without excuse and in any event, he'd left a note explaining that he and his 'friends' were going out to help search for Estonia. No one really missed him.

All those nations, plus Denmark. While he certainly wasn't missing any longer, he wasn't going to be contributing to the conversation anytime soon. He'd been found unconscious halfway through the meeting in a forest with a bullet in his chest and had yet to wake up. Finland cast an uneasy glance towards the door at the back of the room. Hopefully he would wake up soon and shed light on who had done this to him.

In absence of Germany, Turkey and China had been jointly running the meeting and they'd gotten more done than expected. No one was really in the mood to fight, not with all the missing countries, not even France and England. After an analysis of Spain's note, they'd decided that their best bet was indeed Italy. An assortment of different nations would send out groups of soldiers to do a quick comb of the places where Romano and hopefully the other nations might be being held. Other groups were going to investigate the forest where Denmark had been found.

It seemed like a good plan, and Finland tried to put his mind at ease as he filed out of the room of sleepy, paranoid nations. But worry and guilt continued to tear at his gut. It was his fault Sweden had been captured and so it was the least he could do to try and find him.

With a new resolve, Finland flipped open his phone and booked a flight to Italy.

Xxx

_7:25 A.M._

Prussia slowly awoke, moaning slightly. "Five more minutes, West . . ." he mumbled. "Five more minutes . . ."

A slap in the face brought him fully awake and he spluttered indignantly before realizing he was chained to a white wall in an equally white room. His captor was standing in front of him, hands resting on his hips and a hood pulled up to conceal his face.

Prussia spat angrily, rattling the chains. "Let me go, you brat! How dare you slap me? I'm too awesome to be treated this way!"

"Oh, but we both know you're not really awesome at all," cooed his captor, kicking him roughly in the ribs. Prussia gasped sharply. When did he get so strong?

"Why are you concealing your face?" he wheezed, gesturing towards the hood with his head. "I know who you are, it's not like I magically forgot you kidnapping me and you're not even using a voice changer."

Sighing, his captor pulled off the hood and Prussia eyed him skeptically.

"I was visiting Romano and I didn't want to risk him waking up and seeing me. That would ruin the surprise, after all," the other man sighed.

"Romano?" Prussia cried. "What have you done to him? Did you hurt him? Goddammit, you better not have hurt him!"

The man laughed. "Oh, I didn't hurt him. But one of my henchmen sure did."

"Spain's gonna kill you when he finds out," Prussia growled.

"Oh, he already knows!" the man laughed. "I took the liberty of sending him a tape of his precious little tomato screaming his lungs out."

"How could you? That's sadistic!" Romano had never been the nicest person towards him but, well, Prussia _liked _Romano. He was cute, after all. And he meant the world to Spain. _Oh, Spain . . . _Prussia could only imagine how the Spaniard had felt hearing his lover tortured.

"Enough about Romano and Spain," his kidnapper snapped. "I'm here about _you_. I didn't kidnap you to play dress up. I actually need to test something out and you were the perfect candidate."

Prussia didn't like the way he'd said _test out_. Staring into the man's eyes, he realized that the person he'd once cared for was no more. Something had snapped and, while he'd never been easy to handle, now he was so far of the edge there was no hope of returning. He watched as his once-upon-a-time friend shed the winter coat he'd been wearing to reveal the same fading arm he'd shown Prussia at West's house.

"I told you this is what happens to unloved nations that no one needs anymore, right?" he said, wiggling his fingers where his elbow used to be. "Well, I want to do an experiment to see if it's possible to make a nation completely disappear by using these means. Rome disappeared, didn't he? Nations can't die by normal means, but I have a feeling that this occurs when a nation thinks he or she is unloved and either has no more land, or is only a part of a whole country. In fact, this can probably be done to micronations as well."

"So you're planning on . . . making _me _disappear? The awesome Prussia?" Prussia asked incredulously. "Fat chance. I'm loved all over."

The man sat himself across from the nation. "You don't even mean that. You're not _worth _being loved and everyone knows it."

"This isn't you talking," Prussia said, putting up his usual confident façade. "You're not in your right mind."

His captor leaned closer to the captured country, narrowing his eyes. "That's where you're mistaken. I'm more in my right mind than I've ever been. Certainly more than _you_. I see even once great empires aren't above deluding themselves. _No one cares about you, Prussia. _No one loves you. The only person that ever looked up to you is _dead _and has been for a very long time."

"Holy Rome . . ." whispered Prussia softly before reverting back to his usual volume. "Spain cares about me! So does France! West loves me, we're brothers. And so does Hungary, though she'd never admit it."

He was treated with a condescending smirk. "You really believe that, do you?"

"Yes!" Prussia exploded. "You're stupid vanishing trick isn't going to work on me! So let me go! And let Romano go too! If you're planning on doing this to him then you're stupider than I thought you were! Spain worships the ground he walks on and makes sure he knows it!"

"Interesting how you keep drawing the conversation away from yourself." The man licked his lips happily. This was going to be more fun than he'd realized. Prussia had yet to notice it, but his left hand was starting to look at little transparent. It was clear these words were having an effect on him.

"Well, now. How about I go down the list and give you the reasons why those people _don't _care about you. It's going to be a lot easier than you think, you know. They talk about you a lot behind your back, I'll have you know." Prussia flinched and his captor took that as a sign to continue.

"We'll start with Spain. Now, let me ask you a question. How many times has Spain turned you down in favor of spending time with Romano? A lot? That's what I thought. Now why do you think that is?"

"Romano's his goddam boyfriend!" Prussia spat. "It's perfectly normal for him to want to spend time with him!"

"How many times have you gone out with Spain in the past . . . oh let's say ten years?"

"Plenty of times!"

"Uh huh. And how many of those times did Spain call _you_ to ask if you wanted to hang out? It was always you that wanted to hang out with _him_?"

Prussia didn't answer. His other hand however was nearly gone, along with one of his feet.

"Ever think Spain is just too nice to admit he hates you?"

"Shut up!" Prussia shouted. "Spain doesn't hate anyone!"

"You think too much of that fucking wuss. He talks about you behind his back. Says that an ex-nation shouldn't even exist."

"That's . . . that's not true . . ."

The man was now glad Prussia was wearing only a tank top and shorts. It was much easier to track the progress of how much he was disappearing. This was working perfectly.

The man held up four fingers, folding one down. "And now on to France. He's easy. I've seen how he looks at you. Your friendship was never really the same after the Franco-Prussian War, was it?"

His arm was nearly completely transparent. One of the shackles clattered to the floor but Prussia didn't seem to notice. "We're over that. The Bad Touch Trio has fought each other plenty of times."

"He hates you," the man leered. "He said so himself. At one of the world meetings. Which, by the way, you aren't invited to, are you?"

"I don't need to go to those stupid meetings," Prussia scoffed. "I'm too awesome to listen to guys in suits drone on about economics.

"You're not invited because you're an idiot ex-nation who can't keep his mouth shut when it matters."

"I'm not an idiot!" he protested. "I just lack common sense!"

The kidnapper smirked, pushing down another finger. Prussia was getting clearer by the minute. Every word seemed to have the desired effect on him.

"And now on to Hungary. You love her a lot, don't you?"

Prussia hissed sharply, but did not deny it.

"I don't think you realize just how much she hates you. You've been nothing but a dick to her for all the centuries you've known her. Last time I checked, only middle school boys are mean to their crushes. I thought you would've outgrown that by now. You were nothing but an arrogant asshole to her when you two were children. You mocked her for her problems and she will forever _hate _you for that."

Prussia looked as if was on the verge of tears. "It's just . . . it's just playful banter! She knows I don't mean it!"

The man tutted softly. "You've sent her crying into the arms of her darling ex-husband more times than I can count. Even now, you continue to antagonize her. Maybe once upon a time she loved you, but you've destroyed _any chance _you had of being together with her you worthless piece of shit! It's all your fault! I surprised she can look you in the eyes without puking, you ugly albino freak."

The mysterious didn't even give him time to muster a reply, just plowed right through. The once mighty Prussia was being slowly destroyed, not by swords and bullets but by words that seemed just plausible enough to rip through his armor or arrogance like daggers.

"And now, we're on to your brother! West, as you call him. If you think _he _of all people cares for you then you're in for a nasty shock. How do you think he feels when he catches you staring at him, weighing him against his dead brother and finding you came up short? I wonder if he feels as if he will never measure up to Holy Rome in your eyes? _You are nothing but a squatter that freeloads in his basement! _You are an _embarrassment _to him! He is _ashamed _of you! People pat him on the back and say, 'I'm sorry you're brother is like that,' because _no one _likes you. _No one _cares about you! While you were trapped on the other side of the Berlin Wall, he was glad you were gone! He wished you were dead and was sorely disappointed when you survived even after your land was taken away from you!"

Prussia choked slightly, tears spilling from his eyes. He was nearly gone, nearly gone. The experiment had almost succeeded and soon there would be one less useless nation taking up space.

"How did it feel to have your very _existence _ripped away from you, Prussia? No one remembers you anymore! In the history books, you're made out as the anti-hero! _You _were the root of Nazism, not your brother! _You _killed those people! What happened to you? You used to be great, you used to be a force to be reckoned with! Even when you were Poland's bitch, you still were one of the most formidable fighting forces in the world! And now look at you!" The man spat, kicking the almost-vanished nation. "You are worthless! You are nothing! No one cares about you! No one loves you! _You should just go and die already! _No one needs you around, you worthless excuse for a child murderer! Just die! Just disappear! _Just go_."

That last outburst did it. Prussia began to sob openly as he vanished from this world, becoming nothing more than a faint breeze that rushed around the room before fading away.

One last phrase reached the nation-killers ears, a sentence that made even the crazed man's grin falter.

_"I've failed you, Old Man Fritz."_

Xxx

While Prussia was dying, Hungary was cooking in her kitchen. As he flickered out, she felt something sharp and heavy in her chest. Without reason, she suddenly burst into tears with the feeling that she had lost something very dear, and very precious, but she did not know what. Her spoon clattered to the floor and she sank to her knees and cried for all she was worth.

While Prussia was dying, France turned uneasily in his sleep, half formed apologies forming on his lips before falling uselessly to the ground as he realized it was too late. But too late for what?

While Prussia was dying, Spain walked the streets of a small Italian village, searching desperately for Romano. Suddenly, he keeled over, tears welling in his eyes. He whispered the name of a friend, but it sounded like a sigh, not a name. It sounded like something dead and empty and forgotten.

While Prussia was dying, his little brother, his West, his Germany ran hopelessly through the streets of Naples, wondering where his brother could be. And then suddenly, there was the feeling that something was horribly wrong in the world. The feeling that he didn't need to search any more because there was nothing left to search for. And Germany felt empty.

_a/n I really love this chapter, especially this last part. Prussia is my favorite character, so it was sort of depressing, but I think I executed it well. I hope. _

_Thanks for reading this chapter and remember to review! (or at least favorite)._


	7. All Through The Night

_a/n I'm really touched about how many people were sad about Prussia's death! I'm so glad everyone seems to love him so much. I have so much in common with him, it's scary. It also made that part hard to write._

_ Anyway, you guys seriously have no idea how much your comments mean to me. They make my day whenever I get them. I've been sick for a long time and I got some news that it's going to get a bit worse soon but I still feel pretty good! And your comments definitely help! Ahahaha~ I'm so surprised I haven't gotten any flames yet from what people have told me. _

_ So yeah, anyway there's some more graphic torture and a sort of disturbing implied scenario that I may or may not continue next chapter (what do you guys think?). This time it's Sweden's turn!_

_ Also, one more thing! I may not be able to update as frequently as I have because yesterday was my last day of spring break. But never fear! I'll be spending all me free time on this!_

_Thanks again everyone!_

Estonia brought the pan down on Sweden's head with a loud crack that reverberated through the small white room. He gripped it firmly in one hand, sadistic smile gracing his lips as he watched the Swede blinked awake, groaning in pain. Blue eyes squinted up at him in confusion, then worry as the once-intimidating man found he was bound to a chair.

"Estonia? Wh're am I? Why did ya-" He was silenced with another crack to the head.

"Shut up," growled the Baltic, raising the pan threateningly. "Just shut up alright?"

"Why are ya-" _Crack! _Estonia brought the pan down again, taking delight in the way the blood dribbled down the man's face.

"I _said _shut up." This time Sweden remained quiet. "I suppose you're wondering why you're here?"

Sweden nodded slightly, fear glowing in his eyes. Estonia wondered why he'd ever considered this man a threat. He was obviously a gigantic wuss. Emphasis on the gigantic but whatever.

"Revenge," he said simply. "Like the other nations my colleagues and I have captured, you're purpose here is simple: I'm going to take my revenge on you. You stole away the only person I ever loved and I want you to suffer for it."

"You c'd've . . . told me ya f'lt . . ." Sweden trailed off, giving Estonia a slightly dazed look. Obviously the frying pan was starting to mess with his head.

"I could've _what?_" hissed Estonia in his face. "I couldn't even get _near _you, you bastard! You intimidated the hell out of me then, as well as everyone else. No wonder you have no friends. Besides," Estonia stood back, crossing his arms and grinning. "I may not look it, but I prefer the more _violent _approach to things. It may seem like I was the Baltic state that was least affected by my 'stay' with Russia but in reality quite the opposite is true. Sure Lithuania became a total woobie and Latvia shakes and cries a lot, but I was the only one to totally _snap_. It's what kept me alive in that hellhole. I've been crazy for a long time. Why do you think I keep all those mochi things around? They're the only creatures about as batshit insane as me. Even Russia was afraid of me at one point . . ." Estonia gave a maniacal laugh, as if reliving some pleasant memory. "And guess what the only thing that kept me from murdering all you was?"

Sweden didn't bother answering. He knew what was coming.

"_Finland!_" he spat the name. "But you fixed that, didn't you? You one day decided that Finland was you're 'wife' and that was it. He was gone. He was _yours _because you wanted to be a selfish little shit and steal away my only friend when it was obvious he was terrified of you! Did you ever once consider his feelings? That maybe he wanted to go _home_? Not your home in Sweden. _His _home."

"F'nland woulda told me if he f'lt that w'y," Sweden mumbled.

Estonia hit him with the frying pan again and the tall nation gave a low moan. "Speak _correctly _when you talk to me! That's not too hard is it? Now apologize."

Sweden lifted his head, seemingly oblivious to the blood running down his face. A familiar defiant spark had returned, blazing brightly in his ice blue eyes. The spark that made him a force to be reckoned with. The spark that made him fight back against Denmark and take Finland away from that place. The spark that caused nations to cower in his presence, to shy from his menacing aura. "No, I w'll n't."

Estonia cackled. "There's the Sweden I know and hate! I was worried you were going to stay submissive like that forever. It would've made getting my revenge a lot less fun. Ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome, Sweden?" Estonia laughed. Sweden was beginning to hate that laugh.

The Baltic set down the frying pan and cracked his fingers. "Now you see, Sweden. This is why I want my revenge. When the Boss rang me up and offered an alliance, I couldn't turn down this chance to make you suffer for all the things you've done to me. I'm already going to Hell anyway, so why not make this worth the trip?"

"The . . . Boss?" Sweden asked.

"Mmmhmm," Estonia began walking over to a large hook protruding out of the ceiling. A large hoop of rope hung around his belt and he tossed it over it. "The Boss kidnapped Romano, Prussia and Norway, too. I suppose you wouldn't have heard about it yet. He's got something very special planned for you guys and Iceland and I were more than happy to go along for the ride."

Sweden's blood ran cold. Norway? Iceland? _Iceland _was in on all of this? They'd always been like a big family, how could . . . how could Iceland do something like that? He was so sweet when he was little. How could . . . Sweden shook his head, forcing himself to act calm. There had to be a logical explanation for this.

He turned his attention back to what Estonia was doing and soon wished he hadn't. While Sweden had been in shock, he'd managed to tie a noose and was pushing a stool under it. There was really no doubt about who that noose was intended for.

Estonia's grin grew larger by the second as he strode confidently over to Sweden's tied up figure. _Oh, what fun this will be_.

He picked up the frying pan again and brought it down on Sweden's skull as hard as he could, effectively dazing him. Quickly, he untied the bonds and led Sweden over to the noose, nudging him gently so that he would step up onto the chair.

Estonia clapped like a kid at a candy store. "This is a trick I picked up in Russia house. He used to make Lithuania do this all the time. You know how nations can't die by normal means? They can withstand much more pain than a regular human can. It makes hurting them that much more fun! You can just keep torturing them and torturing them and torturing them until _snap_!" Estonia snapped his fingers for effect. "There go their minds! Interesting, right? Now Sweden, I want you to do something for me. _I want you to hang yourself_."

That brought Sweden out of his catatonia. "Wh't?" He seemed to notice that he was untied and made a grab for Estonia. The smaller nation simply sidestepped him, waggling a finger.

"Uh uh uh. You wouldn't want _Finland _to be in this situation, right? You'd much rather it be you than you're precious little _wife_, am I right? Because I can arrange to have him brought here. And the best part is, you'd get to watch! Doesn't that sound fun?"

Sweden shook his head, stepping back up onto the stool, real fear beginning to kindle in his heart. "Ya w'dn't."

"Oh, I think I would. I've done worse things. Finland may be my friend but . . . well let's just say he wouldn't know it was _me _doing it to him. He'd think it'd be a certain heartbroken nation who's finally had enough of constantly being rejected. Then he'd come crying to me after and I'd be there to pick up the pieces, to glue him back together like the fragile little china doll he is. So make your choice. Before I'm tempted to hurt _both _of you."

Sweden trembled slightly before slipping the noose around his neck. Finland . . . he couldn't let anything happen to Finland. He'd be okay. This wouldn't kill him after all. He'd just think about Finland. His smile, his eyes, his adorable little face. Everything about him was adorable. So sweet, so innocent. He'd rather die than have that innocence marred.

"You wanna know the difference between me and Russia?" said Estonia calmly. "He feels remorse for what he's done. Me? I feel _nothing_." And he kicked the chair over.

Xxx

"Norway . . . please wake up Norway. _Norway._" Someone was shaking him gently. Norway frowned, squeezing his eyes shut but the voice would not go away.

"Norway!"

Norway shot up, panting heavily, and found himself mere millimeters away from Iceland's face. Iceland? What was Iceland doing in his room?

_Iceland._

Norway pushed his little brother away as yesterday hit him full force. "Denmark! What did you do to Denmark?"

Iceland scrambled to his feet, looking hurt. "He'll be fine. He's a nation, after all. What're you so worried about?"

Norway was trembling with rage. "You _shot _my boyfriend. You _knocked me out_. You _kidnapped _me. How dare you ask me 'what're you so worried about'? What the hell is _wrong _with you Ice? Seriously, bro, what the fuck?"

Iceland frowned, not the slightest bit troubled by the outburst. "You never used to swear before you started dating Denmark."

Norway was speechless. "Wh-what? Brother, what's gotten into you?"

"Don't call me that!" Iceland grabbed Norway's wrist, pinning him against the wall with a strength that he had not known the younger possessed. Norway saw madness in his brother's violet eyes, something dark and twisted. It chilled him to the bone. What had happened to the innocent little boy he had loved and raised?

"Don't call me brother," Iceland hissed angrily. "I _love _you, Norway! Why can't you see that?"

"I love you, too" Norway gasped. "Of course I love you. You're family!"

The purple-eyed nation raised his hand as if it smack Norway, but then lowered it, trembling. "You know what I mean, Norge. I don't love you like a brother . . . I don't love you that way. Norway, I would do _anything _for you!"

Norway studied his little brother with wide eyes before narrowing them and turning away. "Ice . . . Iceland that's wrong."

There was a sniffle behind him and Norway's heart lurched as he realized he'd just broken his little brother's heart. All of his normal composure was gone, the barrier of apathy he usually threw up against the world was shattered. And his own brother had done that to him. But . . . he was wrong wasn't he? Iceland was wrong; you just weren't allowed to feel that way about your own flesh and blood. And what he'd done to Denmark . . . Norway felt sick. What was going on here?

He turned around to see Ice crying gently into his hands. The boy looked so young, so frail, so alone. And he really always had been the odd one out hadn't he? Finland had Sweden and Norway had Denmark. Iceland was always alone unless he was with . . . _his brother_.

Norway enveloped the younger nation in a warm embrace. The white haired boy stiffened against him and Norway cooed reassuring words in his ear.

"It's okay, Ice. It's okay. We can fix this, don't worry. Let's just go home, al-" He was cut off as Ice's arms shot out, catching him in the stomach and taking his breath away. Iceland shoved him against the wall once more, eyes blazing like the volcanoes he was so famous for.

"How could you _say _that?" he growled as Norway trembled slightly. This was a side of Iceland he'd never seen, never wanted to see. "How dare you talk about me like I'm something that needs to be _fixed_? I don't want to be fixed! I'm not some broken toy, Norge!"

Iceland locked him into a bruising, needy kiss, full of anger and pain and rage. Norway tasted of blood and steel and the ocean and he felt his volcanic heart break again when he did not feel him reciprocate the gesture.

Iceland at last pulled away, staring into his brother's terrified face, searching the other's eyes for even a hint of the same love he felt. There was nothing was coldness and love burning far away. A love reserved for someone else, not him.

Tears running down his cheeks, Iceland reached into his pocket and whipped out of a switchblade, pressing it to his brother's pale neck. He pushed the edge of the blade in, watching the sweet red blood trickle down like wine.

Norway gasped, horror rising in his eyes. "Ice! Please! You don't have to do this! We're _brothers, _Ice!" He had never pictured himself at the young boy's mercy, but here he was. And it was one of the most terrifying experiences of his life.

"If I can't have you," Iceland whispered, as if reciting a lullaby, "then _no one _can."

Xxx

There was blood everywhere.

Was it his? The sleep-deprived Spanish nation checked his arms. Nope. They were clean. Then whose blood was this?

The tiny Italian back alley was filled with it. It was splashed everywhere, painting the walls of the buildings a vibrant crimson and making his shoes sticky with it. Hadn't someone once told him not to enter blood-filled alleyways? Or maybe that was just common sense.

Spain almost couldn't bring himself to care. It felt like something inside him had broken slightly, fallen out of place within his heart in desperate need of realignment. _Prussia_. It hurt to think of that name now. He was gone . . . somehow Spain simply _knew _it. I was a deep and horrible certainty, like the fact that one day the sun was going to go out and they would all die in darkness.

Prussia was dead. There goes one star. One less light to brighten the darkness. One less hopefully burning candle. He just hoped he had died knowing how much he meant to them all, but Spain felt that that was not the case. Prussia would not be dead if he thought he had something to live for. And that hurt most of all.

Under normal circumstances, he would have fallen to the ground in a sobbing heap. But right now, another nation was in danger. The nation that meant more to him than anything else in the world.

_Romano._

He repeated his love's name in his head like a mantra, slurring the syllables together into a song.

_Romano, Romano, Romano._

He couldn't let anything else happen to him. He wouldn't allow him to be hurt anymore.

" . . .S-spain?" A voice called out from the darkness and Spain froze. Right. The blood.

"Who's there?" he asked cautiously, careful not to lose his footing in the stickiness. God, there was so much of it. A normal person should be dead by now. Perhaps it was another nation. All the more reason to proceed carefully.

"Spain . . . it's me, D-denmark. Think you could help me out for a second?"

"Denmark? Aren't you one of the missing nations?" Spain whispered. Ah. There he was. He was propped up against a darkened doorway, coat unbuttoned to reveal gauze wrapped around his midriff. It was completely stained red, as was the rest of him. The man regarded him with pain-dulled eyes.

"Nah, man. They found me. I was . . . asleep for awhile. I only just woke up a few hours ago. I caught a plane ride from Turkey, where the World Meeting was held without them knowing. I gotta . . . I gotta save Norway . . ."

"They don't know you're here?" asked Spain, shocked.

"Yeah, and boy are they gonna flip shit when they find out I'm missing in my condition. But knowing them . . ." Denmark wheezed a bit. "Norway'd _never _get found. So I decided to take matters into my own hands. Isn't that what you're doing with Romano?" He lifted his hands out of the pool of blood surrounding him. "Not exactly my brightest idea but now that you're here it'll be fine."

"What can I do to help?" asked Spain, kneeling next to the injured nation and tenderly removing the blood stained coat. It was mostly dry, so he set it atop a crate nearby.

"Take off the bandages and replace them. My coat should work just fine. Tear it into strips. But first hand me the painkillers in the pocket."

Spain fished in the pockets before pulling out a morphine bottle. He frowned at it briefly before handing it to Denmark. "That's some strong stuff you got there."

Denmark downed a handful of pills, wincing. "Well, Ice sure did a number on me. Unwrap the bandages and see for yourself.

"Iceland?" Spain asked worriedly. Netherlands . . . and now Iceland. Who else was going to turn against them? He began to unwrap the gauze covering the Nordic's wound.

Denmark nodded. "Yep. Little bugger shot me and then . . . and then kidnapped Norway. It wasn't pleasant to say the least. Me and Ice were like family. I don't understand what could've driven him to do that."

Spain had never been squeamish. He'd been forced to leave all that behind during the Inquisition. But even he gasped a little at the sight of the gaping red hole dripping blood on Denmark's chest. "You're lucky that didn't clip any vital organs."

Denmark nodded stiffly. "I sure am."

Spain began tearing the coat into strips. He wrapped them around Denmark's chest, tying them firmly. "You shouldn't have left if your wound was this serious. If you weren't a nation, you'd be dead right now."

Denmark fixed him with an intense stare, preparing to struggle to his feet. "I'd do anything to save Norway. It's the same for you with Romano, right?"

Blue eyes locked with green ones as Spain helped him to his feet. "You're right. What do you say we search together?" After all, two heads were better than one. Anything to get to Romano quicker. _Anything._

Denmark shook his hand vigorously, a cocky grin gracing his lips. "It's been awhile since I've gone asskicking."

_a/n Dear gods, Denmark is such a badass. I don't think he and Spain will be together for more than a few chapters, however. I've finally got this whole thing planned out in my head. Hope you enjoyed it so remember to review!_


	8. Are You Sleeping?

_a/n Sorry for the delay on this guys. Personal issues came up and so it got published later than I expected. Thank you so much for all your reviews and alerts! Again, they really make my day._

_ This is sort of a filler chapter that sets up for the next one, which will be action packed and (hopefully) very long. This one does have some Spamano flashback!dream!fluff however to make up for it. I felt this was lacking romance._

_ There was other stuff I wanted to say but now I can't remember. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter!_

Xxx

"_And so . . . as the Treaty of Utrecht states . . . Spain, you will relinquish control of your territories in Italy, specifically Milan, Naples and Sicily along with the Spanish Netherlands to Mr. Austria . . ."_

_ "I'm here for Romano, Spain." Austria's voice is cold, hard. Spain stares disbelievingly at the nation on his doorstep and the assistant clutching the scroll as if it is a lifeline. A few legions of soldiers are arrayed behind him, faces hidden by visors._

_ "You . . . you can't have him!" Spain cries helplessly and Austria looks at him with pity, eyes wandering over Spain's bandaged head and torso._

_ "I'm sorry, but you yourself agreed to it. Relinquish your protectorate immediately or I will have to take him by force. And in your current condition, I highly advise against it." _

_ "You can't have him!" Spain roars, advancing on the aristocratic nation menacingly. "He's mine, goddammit!" He is angry now, angrier than he has ever been. After he lost the war, he had been drained, tired, defeated. Never resentful or hateful. But now an old friend has shown up on his doorstep to take his most precious treasure and Spain is _furious. _"I'll kill you before you can lay a hand on him!" The soldiers are becoming restless, wondering if they should take action against the screaming nation._

_ A voice from behind him makes them all freeze. "Oi, bastard . . . what's going on?" A teenaged Romano forces his way into the doorway to stand beside Spain. The older nation immediately wraps his arms around him protectively. Romano's eyes widen as he gazes upon Austria and the soldiers. "Spain, who are these people?"_

_ Austria offers him a gloved hand. "We're here to collect you, Mr. Romano. As you may already know, the War of Spanish Succession has been concluded with the Treaty of Utrecht and your time under Spain's care is over. Neither of you have any choice in the matter."_

_ Spain quickly pushes Romano behind him. "You can't have him! I'll kill you, Austria!"_

_ Austria shook his head and sighed, gesturing for the soldiers to restrain the angry nation. "See? He is mad, Romano. It will be much better if you come without a struggle."_

_ Romano clings to Spain's arm and the brown-haired nation pulls him against his side. "I don't wanna go. I'm . . . happy here. I don't want to go back to your house."_

_ But the soldiers are already coming. Austria steps aside as, two by two, they march on Spain's doorstep, seizing him by the arms and dragging him, roaring out of the house with Romano still hugging him around the waist. Another man grabs Romano, now crying as he clutches Spain like a lifeline. Spain slugs the man in the face, sending him reeling but it is only a matter of time before two other run up to replace him. They wrench the boy away, dodging his wild kicks and gritting their teeth against his anguished cries. He is thrown forcefully into a carriage that Austria has waiting and can only watch as Spain is beaten down; reopening the injuries Romano has only just finished tending._

_ A well-aimed punch sends the once-great nation to the floor, barely able to lift his head. He is dimly aware of Romano screaming at him from inside the carriage. _

_ "Get up, bastard! Get up! Help! Help me, Spain! Spain, get up! Spain! Don't let them take me away!" As he struggles to lift his face from the cobblestones, Austria's boot comes crashing down on his head. The man squats down next to him, roughly grabbing Spain's curls and forcing him to look at him. Austria's face in contorted with an emotion a far cry away from his usual dignified mask. This is the Austria that lies beneath the aristocrat, the one hardened by centuries of bloody, bloody warfare._

_ "I warned you not to defy me again." And then he is gone, taking the most important person in Spain's world with him. He can only watch as the carriage rolls away, followed by the soldiers, marching obediently behind it. _

_ Romano . . ._

_ Spain sobs like a man who has lost everything. He is weak, too weak to protect the one thing worth protecting. _

Spain awoke, panting harshly and eyes bright with unshed tears. He reached over to the left, wanting Romano to comfort him as he usually did when he dreamt of the past. But his hands connected with nothing but brick.

_Damn._

He lay back, wiping frantically at his eyes as tears began to pour down his cheeks. He was not in his bed; he was sleeping in an alley between a pizzeria and a florist in some nameless Italian town. And, more importantly, Romano was not there. Denmark was, however, curled up into a little ball near Spain's feet. Unfortunately, he was not an adequate substitute.

Spain stared up at the crisp, clear stars, listening to the roar of police vehicles in the background and tasting salt on his lips. As Veneziano had predicted, Italy had become very busy once it was discovered the kidnapped nations (or at least Romano) were being held somewhere in the country. Even this small Italian town was not spared.

Spain wondered if he should even hope that they would be able to find his love. He could not bring himself to muster his usual optimism. This Boss guy was smart and it seemed as if he liked playing this little game of hide and seek. It seemed odd that he had not yet received another clue.

His thoughts strayed back to Veneziano for the first time since he had run. Why had he left so suddenly? Deep down, Spain was glad he was gone. Denmark was a much faster search partner and was stronger. He'd be much more useful when it came time to rescue the kidnapped nations. Besides, he didn't really want Veneziano to see Romano before his injuries could be treated. From what they'd heard . . . Spain took a shuddering breath and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Once he rescued him, Spain was going to make sure nothing bad ever happened to Romano again. No one was ever going to hurt him, or take him away from him, like the kidnapper had done now or like Austria had done all those years ago. Even if that meant never letting Romano out of his sight. After this was all over, his love would never have to be afraid again.

But even in his heart, Spain knew that wasn't true. They were nations. Wars happened, famine happened, financial problems happened. Unlike humans, who would wither and die after a handful of meager years on this earth, the nations lived forever. Sometimes that was a blessing, other times it was a curse. It meant they had to experience every single conflict that plagued their land, take the suffering of their people into their hearts and attempting to ease the pain as much as they could.

But Spain was grateful for his immortality. All the sleepless nights in the world were worth an eternity spent with Romano.

He sighed, fidgeting and wondering if he should wake up Denmark so they could resume their searching. Eventually he decided against it. However much he tried to hide it, the spiky haired nation was hurting and it wouldn't do to rush him.

So Spain sat back and resigned himself to greeting the dawn. Another question wormed its way through his half-awake mind, a treacherous thought that made Spain shiver unhappily.

_Even if you do get him back, will things ever be the same again?_

Xxx

_Romano knocks tenderly on his caretaker's door, tears shining in his eyes and fists clutched possessively around a scrap of red fabric that once belonged it Spain's coat._

_ It's night terrors again. It's always night terrors. Awful ones that like to torment him most the days before Spain sets sail to fight. After watching the green eyed nation stabbed to death in his dreams, it's only natural for the young boy to seek his comfort, if only to reassure himself that Spain is still there. Still alive, still breathing. Because even if he never admits it, Spain is Romano's world and he doesn't know what he would do if something happened to him._

_ Romano frowns, tucking the cloth out of sight. Usually Spain would've opened the door by now, greeted him with a smile and a hug and affectionate words of love. The boy presses his ear to the door before pulling back, shocked. There are sounds coming for Spain's room, sounds that do not belong there. They are the soft whimpers of a broken man._

_ The boy reaches up, tugging on the latch to the room and opening it a little. He peers inside and his usual sour expression immediately warps into something akin to concern. Spain is slumped over his desk, head in hands and shoulders shaking as he cries. There are papers and scrolls littering the floor and an empty bottle of brandy tossed under the bed. He doesn't seem to be aware of Romano's presence._

_ Romano creeps over to his side, tugging gently on the coat tossed over his shoulders. "Bas- Spain? W-what's wrong?"_

_ Immediately, Spain's head shoots up. He stares at his lackey with puffy red eyes and tries to fake a smile. "O-oh, R-Romano. Hey. Um, n-nothings w-wrong. Don't worry about Boss, okay? J-just go to bed and I'll be there to t-tuck you in in a . . . in a . . ." The false grin cracks and his head droops as more tears start to roll down his face. "Romano . . . I don't want you to see me like this. Please, just-"_

_ He is cut off as Romano clambers up onto his lap, a look of determination on his chubby face. Spain just sits there, too shocked to do anything. Romano? Initiating physical contact?_

_ He can only stare as Romano places his small hands on either side of his head and tentatively kisses the corner of each eye. An adorable blush lights his face and the boy can't bring himself to look Spain in the eyes. "You look stupid when you cry, idio- Spain. So . . . um . . . _fusososososososo~_, okay? See, it's a cheer up charm. You're not allowed to be sad now." _

_ It takes Spain a minute to react, but soon his tears dry completely and he envelops his henchman in a bone crushing hug. "Th-thank you, Romano! A cheer up charm was just what I needed!"_

_ "Yeah, yeah," Romano mutters, not even trying to get away. Just this once, he'll allow it. "So, w-what happened? Drop a tomato or something?"_

_ Spain shakes his head, sighing gently and refusing to release Romano from his grip. "I lost a war, Romano. A war that's been going on for almost thirty long, long years." His voice breaks slightly. "Damn France. Damn Austria. I've lost so much money . . . I just can't believe it's over and I'm left with nothing."_

_ Romano wraps his arms around Spain as far as they will go. He has heard the talk of war, but he'd always been so sure Spain would win. Spain always won. He was invincible. That's what they'd all been saying right? That the house of Habsburg would never fall. But now . . . _

_ Spain ruffles his hair affectionately. "At least I still have you. I'll always have you, right? You'll never leave Boss, right?"_

_ Romano fists his hands in Spain's tear-stained shirt. "I . . . promise I won't ever leave you."_

_ "Good," smiling, Spain scoops up his henchman and carries him to bed. "Now, how about you get some sleep, okay? I still have . . . I still have work to do." One glance at the mess surrounding his desk is enough to make his expression darken a little._

_ Romano pulls on his sleeve, scowling. "No, you're going to sleep with me, ya jerk. I gotta make sure you don't start crying again."_

_ Spain presses a kiss to Romano's forehead and climbs into the bed with him. "Anything you say, boss." Besides, the bed is lonely without Roma. It's much too big for someone to sleep there alone._

_ The elder nation falls asleep first, breathing softly with Romano tucked securely against his side. Things would get better. Tomorrow was a new day. Things always get better, and as long as Romano was still here with him, he had nothing to be sad about._

_ Once he is certain Spain is asleep, Romano shyly kisses his cheek and finally allows himself to relax._

_ Spain would be okay._

Romano awoke, heart beating in his chest like a trapped bird. _Spain._

The pain in his injured leg came flooding back and he let out a low whimper, averting his gaze from the mess of bone and blood. It throbbed painfully and Romano tried to calm his nerves.

"Spain . . ." he whimpered, throat dry and cracked. It seemed a miracle that his vocal cords were still intact after all the screaming he had done. "Spain . . . when are you coming to get me . . .?" He coughed wretchedly.

He stared at the ceiling, trying to forget what Netherlands had done to him. He tried to forget the fear and the pain but it was a near impossible feat to accomplish tied to a chair with a shattered leg.

He was a rude person. He was a very rude person. Romano knew and accepted that. He embraced it, even. But what had he done to deserve this? Who hated him enough to do this to him? Germany immediately sprang to mind but he pushed it away quickly. Germany would never do something like this because it would hurt precious, little Veneziano. And heaven forbid something hurt his precious little brother.

Footsteps outside the room made him tense. Netherlands. Netherlands was coming back. So soon? Romano shook quietly, hands gripping the sides of his chair. _No. _Not again.

The door swung open and- _speak of the devil_- there stood the spiky haired nation. He looked weary, hollow. He had bags under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept for days. A pipe was clutched limply between his teeth.

He stared at Romano, hand never leaving the doorknob. His arms were shaking as if he was in some sort of withdrawal. At last he removed the pipe from his mouth. "I'm sorry Romano. I'm so, so sorry." And then he closed the door.

Romano burst into tears.

Xxx

Netherlands thundered down the hallway, boots clomping loudly and creating echoes. He couldn't do this anymore. He just couldn't. He didn't even know if Belgium was really alive or not. But he intended to find out.

He encountered Estonia leaving one of the rooms that he wasn't allowed into, smiling crookedly. The Baltic furrowed his brow as he noticed the tall nation running towards him. "Oh, hello, Netherlands. What's the-"

Netherlands grabbed him by the collar and slammed him up against the wall, anger clouding his vision. "You tell me where my sister is, you sick fuck!" He spat in his face. "Tell me _now!_"

Estonia just laughed, furthering infuriating the man. "Her room is third door on the left. Can't miss it."

Netherlands dropped him and sprinted down the long hallway, followed by the maniacal laughter of the snapped Baltic state. His sister . . . his sister had been so close all this time. He'd had dozens of chances to save her while he was working here alone. Why hadn't he thought to check the other rooms?

_Fear, _said his mind, but he ignored it, skidding to a stop in front of the promised door. It looked like all the doors, blank and assuming. But sometimes the worst travesties go on behind blank and assuming doors.

He tried the handle, fully expecting it to be locked. It simply came away in his hand, rolling over the floor. Netherlands stared at it for a moment. He should've known something was off by then. But instead of taking the obvious warnings, he kicked down the door and stormed in.

"Belgium! Belgium, I'm here . . ." he trailed off and chocked on his words as an awful realization settled in the pit of his stomach. The room was empty.

Well, not entirely empty. Blood was splashed across the walls and floor in sickening contrast to the pure white of the rest of the room. It was everywhere and Netherlands took a step back, bile rising in the back of his throat. _Belgium . . . _There was a chair in the center of the room similar to Romano's. Had she been tortured there?The back wall was devoid of bodily fluids except for one word painted in crimson.

FADE.

"Hello, Netherlands," said a steely voice behind him. "Looking for something?"

_a/n I'm not as happy with this one as I was with the last couple of chapters. It sort of feels rushed, but it's the only way I can think to write it._

_Thanks again!_


	9. Frere Jacques

_a/n Ciao~ everyone and thanks once again for sticking with the story for so long! I hope you enjoy this chapter, despite its lack of Spain and Romano. I promise they'll be plenty of that next chapter. Today, however, belongs to Netherlands, Estonia, Finland and the Boss of course! _

_ Now here's some news of a sort. I acquired a tumblr a little while ago and I post previews there as well as updates on how it's coming along. I also post lots of Hetalia stuff (mostly Spamano) and other . . . cool things. So if you want to check that out that would be cool. My name is lullabyemyuu. Okay, shameless self advertising time over._

_ Also, once I complete this fic, I have three ideas for other ones I want to write after this and I was wondering if you guys would give me feedback on which one you'd like to read._

_1) A sequel to this, which I sort of have semi-planned out in my head. I can't really tell you about it because that would give away the end of this one. Eheheheheh~_

_2) An Armageddon-type fic that will probably be also be a horror. It'll be mainly Spamano focused of course and I have some ideas for it._

_3) An AU where Antonio is a computer hacker who must get close to the heir (Lovino) to an incredibly wealthy company to obtain the information that he can use to rip it off big time. Unfortunately, getting close to Lovino is harder than he thought and the fact that he mightbesortof falling in love with his victim isn't helping matters much._

_Wow, long author's note is long. Enjoy this chapter!_

Netherlands slowly turned around, ice gripping his heart. _The Boss wasn't supposed to be back yet._

The Boss apparently begged to differ. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. His usual maniacal grin was nowhere to be seen. Instead, it was replaced with a hard mask of barely contained fury.

Netherlands kept his fear at bay. "What have you done to my sister?" That sentence could have very well been the death of him and they both knew it. You didn't talk back to the Boss. You just didn't.

The Boss shrugged, gesturing vaguely to the room in general. "You tell me."

"I don't have time to play these stupid games with you, you bastard!" Netherlands hissed. "What happened to Belgium?"

The man's entire visage flickered momentarily in surprise, like a hologram in a science fiction movie. He placed a hand on the doorway as if to keep him anchored to this world. Netherlands glared at him, noticing that his condition had deteriorated somewhat since he had last come to check up on them. His figure, usually handsomely slim, now seemed slightly emaciated and his face was drawn and haggard.

He quickly recovered, however, once again adopting the unfamiliar look of menace. "I'm not here to talk about her. I'm here to talk about _you_. More specifically, you're recent _fuck up._" He strode over to Netherlands and reached up to slap him harshly across the face. "Who told you you could let that idiot Spain know you were involved?" He roared angrily.

Netherlands simply stared down at the man in horror. "How did you . . . how did you find out?"

The Boss slapped him again. "I know _everything! Everything! _You can't just go around behind my back doing whatever the hell you please! Now, because of you, it'll be a hell of a lot harder to play the game! I wanted to keep this whole thing _secret_! I thought you _knew _that! So why? Why did you go against my orders? Tell me!"

Netherlands observed the Boss, now panting from his rant. Parts of his body kept fading away and reappearing. There was nothing but madness behind those eyes. He was gone. Snapped. Netherlands feared for Romano now more than ever. Whatever hideous plan arose out of that twisted mind . . .

He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Because what you have told me to do has gone against _everything _I believe in. You have forced me to torture a nation who has done no more than the rest of us by using my _sister_. Every time I . . . hurt Romano all I can picture is Spain's face in my head begging me and pleading with me to stop. But I can't. Because I know he'd do the exact same thing if our roles were reversed. We would both go to incredible lengths to protect the ones that we love. I felt he deserved to know who was responsible for hurting his love because I know I'd be dying to know the same."

Netherlands glanced behind the Boss at the door. He could run through there in time. It would be easy. But they'd come after him and he wondered if he'd have any chance of escape.

The Boss laughed humorlessly. "And here I thought you were becoming a pushover. So, why are you still here if Belgium isn't?"

"I'm going to Spain," Netherlands growled. "I'm going to tell him where this place is. Maybe I'm not strong enough to go up against you, but he is."

The other man pouted childishly. "And end our game so soon? But I was just going to give him the next clue."

"You . . ." Netherlands began inching towards the doorway, "are a sad, sadistic fuck." He barreled towards the door, roughly shoving the other man out of his way and then he was gone.

Xxx

Estonia walked purposefully down the hallway after Netherlands, a slight spring in his step as he thought of the kind of pain Sweden was going through now. Maybe the Boss would let him have Netherlands, too. After all, this kind of betrayal couldn't go unpunished. He didn't really have anything against Netherlands, but he was on a high he never wanted to come down from.

The Boss stepped out of Belgium's room and Estonia noted that he was flickering in and out even more now.

"Should I go after him?" the Baltic queried, and the Boss slowly turned with a disconcerting grin that made even him feel slightly uneasy.

"No, no," the Boss waved his hand. "I was going to kill him but I think this will be more fun. I'm a little impatient to start on Romano and I think the quicker Spain gets here the better. Besides, I have a feeling that after Netherlands meets up with him the insolent fool will be more than enough faded for me to finish off. Understand?"

Estonia nodded, disappointed. "Yes, Boss."

"Now how did your playtime with Sweden go?" the other man asked.

Disappointment forgotten, Estonia grinned. "Oh, very well. I'm off to go find Finland now and take my reward. I've manage to locate him."

The Boss nodded. "Alright, just make sure you get back here in time to help with restraining Spain. What of Iceland?"

"I heard some screams so I assume he's doing just fine."

"Excellent, I'll leave you to your business now."

The two nodded at each other and Estonia continued walking down the hallway. _Ah, Finland, _he sighed. _Soon you'll realize where your affections really lie._

Xxx

Finland felt like crying. This town was so _big. _There were people everywhere, shouting in Italian which he knew not one word of. Why did he come here by himself? There was no way he was going to find Su-san this way!

For the first time, Finland was beginning to realize how lost he was without Sweden by his side. He'd always been there for him, guiding him and ready to catch him before he fell. But now it was his turn to save Sweden and he was completely and utterly useless.

Whimpering slightly, Finland took a seat at a small café and ordered a coffee, which he nursed miserably as he tried to think of where he should look next.

"Hey! Finland!" Was that who he thought it was? Finland squinted at the figure approaching him, waving happily.

"Estonia?" The Baltic pulled up a chair and sat down, still grinning in a way Finland had never seen before. There was something . . . off about it. "Weren't you one of the missing nations?"

Estonia waved the question away. "I don't know what everyone got so worked up about. I simply took a little holiday with the mochis, that's all. Everyone must be getting paranoid about the sudden disappearances."

"Shouldn't you have told someone you were leaving?" Finland asked. "I was really worried about you."

Estonia grimaced. "Russia enjoys trying to follow me whenever he hears I want to try and get away for awhile."

Finland nodded. "So have you told the others that you're back yet? Everyone's been looking for you!"

_No, _Estonia thought, _No one's been looking for me. They're all looking for Romano and Prussia and Denmark and the others. The ones that have people who love them. I only have Finland and he was probably searching for . . . for Sweden. _"Oh, not yet. I wanted to see you first."

His friend frowned. "You should really tell them soon. Um . . . did you happen to see Sweden while you were out? We kind of had a fight and I'm really worried about him. I feel terrible." Finland looked down. "I never knew how much I would miss him once he was gone."

_I knew it! _Pain flared harshly in Estonia's stomach. "Don't talk about him when you're with me! Sweden is an arrogant, controlling bastard and just his name makes me want to puke. He doesn't deserve you!" _There was no reason for the outburst. Don't let your emotions get the better of you, you fool._

"What?" Finland was momentarily confused before his expression darkened slightly. "How could you say that about Su-san?"

Estonia noted that the other people around them were starting to stare. He grabbed Finland's wrist and started to drag him away from the café. "Come with me. I need to talk to you."

Wearing a perplexed and slightly concerned expression, Finland allowed himself to be dragged into a nearby alleyway. He could have gotten away; his physical strength belied his appearance, but he felt he needed to hear his friend out.

At last, Estonia released Finland's wrist. "Finland, do you love Sweden?" _Best to be blunt. _The Baltic mentally prepared himself for the answer.

"I . . . I" Finland buried his face in his hands, surprised by his forwardness. "I don't know Estonia. I just don't know."

Estonia gently brought Finland's hands away from his face and looked eyes with him. "You don't love him, Finland. You've lived with him so long, you don't know anything else besides him. There are other . . ." his voice broke slightly, "opportunities for love out there, waiting for you. Please don't throw yourself away for someone who pretty much kidnapped you! You were just scared so you depended on Sweden for protection and found yourself staying with him out of habit and guilt! Well, you're safe now! You have me!" He put his hands on Finland's shoulders. "I _love _you Finland! I love you more than anything else in the world! I would do _anything _for you! Please, just . . . just open your eyes!" He pressed his lips to Finland's in a passionate kiss full of longing and want.

He tasted Finland's past of suffering and war, of fights against Russia and fear of what lay just around the corner. But nothing else. There was no warmth there. Legend said, that if two nations were truly meant for each other, they could taste each other's histories in that kiss. But Estonia could only taste fear, fear and more fear.

Finland moved his lips slightly against Estonia's a caught a hint of insanity. This felt wrong, so wrong. He pushed Estonia away fearfully, shaking his head. "No!"

Estonia struggled to use the wall to support himself. His heart . . . broken? How could Finland do this to him? He had thought the Nordic was his friend! But he was just like all the others.

Breathing heavily, he quickly withdrew a pair of shears from his back pocket, the ones he was had cut the rope he had hung Sweden with. He jumped on Finland, catching him by surprise and stabbing wildly and furiously. They caught Finland's shoulder, splattering blood against the wall.

With a cry of pain, Finland reached up and grabbed Estonia's hands, attempting to force him away. "Stop this now!"

They grappled for what felt like hours. Both were wheezing as they struggled with each other. At last Finland whacked his forehead against Estonia's, causing him to stumble back. Finland reached down a grabbed the shears from his hands and pointed them back at his attacker.

Estonia simply stared up at him, helpless. _I don't want it to end like this. _Already he could feel himself beginning to fade. Because now he had no one. Absolutely no one.

Instead of retaliating, Finland put the bloodied shears in his own back pocket and offered Estonia a hand. Unsure of quite what was going on, the Baltic reached up and took it. Finland pulled him to feet and then brought him to his chest in a warm hug.

Estonia stiffened, before allowing tears to finally fall. They rolled down his cheek in big, fat drops and stained Finland's shoulder, already soaked through with blood. His slight form shook with shuddering sobs. "I'm so . . . I'm so sorry . . ." How could Finland forgive him after what he'd just done? How could someone be so undeniably perfect and so unattainable? It ripped Estonia up inside.

At last, Finland broke the embrace and stepped back. He regarded Estonia with an unguarded expression. "You know where Sweden is, don't you?"

Estonia could only nod wretchedly. _It's come to this, hasn't it? I was feeling so powerful mere hours ago._

"Then let's go."

_a/n Remember to find my tumblr!_


	10. Close Your Eyes

_a/n Ciao, everyone, and welcome to another chapter of Don't Say A Word. This one has some pretty intense stuff in it so I'm warning you now._

_ I'd just like to thank everyone once again for all those reviews, favorites and alerts. I'm aiming for a hundred reviews by the end, ahahahahaha~ Wow, I can't believe this is more than half-over. (I still haven't even gotten any flames but shhhhhh)._

_ Oh, I posted a Spamano one-shot that I worked on while I was supposed to be finishing this chapter. It's really sad. Even sadder than this. _

_ In regards to what I'm going to work on after this, I really want to do the AU. Then maybe the sequel to this._

_ Thanks again everyone!_

Blood pooled beneath him as Norway slumped weakly to the floor. Iceland stood above him, panting triumphantly and brandishing his blade, still dripping. Norway howled and clutched his mangled arm. "Ice . . . Iceland!"

"I've always wanted to hear you screaming my name," Iceland sniggered happily. "Maybe this isn't exactly the way I wanted it to happen but I'll take what I can get."

Norway looked at him fearfully. "I can't believe you . . . how did it get like this?"

The teenage nation laughed. "You should know better than anyone, Norge. After all, you're the one who made me this way." He licked some of the blood off the blade, obviously reveling in every drop.

"I was nothing but kind to you!"

"You ignored me!" Iceland leaned forward and snarled angrily. "You abandoned me to go play with that idiot Dane. I didn't see you for weeks at a time because you were busy with him. Months of loneliness do awful things to people. I had to sit back and watch you love someone other than me. It tore me apart yet you noticed nothing."

"People go through that sort of thing all the time," his brother gasped "Think of Gil and Hungary! Belarus and Russia!" Norway quickly realized his mistake. Belarus was not sane by any stretch of the word. He continued on, regardless. "Normal humans go through that all the time but it wasn't enough to drive them to insanity!"

"Humans? How dare you compare the nations to those fools. Their lives are over quickly, giving their jealousy little time to ferment. I have loved you for centuries, Norway. How do you think I felt when I went for testing and found out you were my brother? I was horrified. But I got over it. Love between nations works differently than it does for others." He leaned forward and kissed Norway roughly. He bit his bottom lip harshly, drawing blood. Iceland swirled his tongue around in the coppery liquid for a moment before drawing back, licking crimson from his lips. Little dribbles stained his chin, giving him a slightly vampirish look. "But let's stop talking about that. You belong to me now and I want to have some fun."

Noticing Norway's panicked look, Iceland snorted. "No, not that kind of fun. I'm not a rapist. I wanted it to be willing but it looks like that's not going to happen, is it? So I'm going to have a different kind of fun. Unfortunately for you, it won't be nearly as pleasant."

Iceland reached down to his white boots and produced a small revolver from a hidden holster. Norway gulped. He himself had given Ice that gun as birthday present just last year.

He held out the gun and bloody knife, examining them both. He then offered the gun to Norway. "Here, brother."

Norway looked incredulous. "You're giving this to me? What if I shoot you and run?"

Iceland laughed. "Oh, trust me. You're not going to want me to do that. Because you know what's going to happen if you do?" He took a step forward, face alight with glee. "First, I or one of my accomplices is going to bring Romano in here and . . . oh, I don't know, maybe saw off his arm. Or maybe we'll have you saw off his arm. I don't know. You and Romano are friends, right?" He cackled again. "And then, after, we're going to take a rusty fork and take out one of your eyes. You only need one of those, right? That'll be fun! But that won't even be the best part. Because once Denmark gets here, we're going to take him apart limb by limb and make you watch. So you're not going to do anything with that gun that I don't tell you to do."

The expression on Norway's face went from disgust and horror to dull hope at the mention of Denmark's name. "Denmark is coming?"

"Pathetic," hissed Iceland. "Take the gun and listen closely to what I have to say before I decide that Romano should become a paraplegic and that you'd look sexy with an eye patch."

Norway took the gun, trying to still his fear. He held the metal in his hands, trying to resist the urge to put a bullet through his deranged brother's skull.

Iceland pointed to the revolver. "There is one bullet in that gun. Only one. I'm sure you're familiar with the game of Russian roulette, am I right?"

"W-what?" Norway just stared at him. "I'm playing with you?"

Iceland grinned. "No, silly. You're playing with you. I want you to hold the gun to your head, pull the trigger and, if nothing comes out, respin the cylinder and try again!"

"You're absolutely insane," his brother whispered. "No. I can't do that." Iceland was crazy. You couldn't kill a nation with a bullet. A head wound . . . He shuddered slightly.

Iceland shrugged. "Oh, well. I better get Romano in here. Plus I'll have to locate a fork, what a bother. But it'll all be worth it once Denmark gets here. Maybe I should blind you _after _we do that to Denmark."

Fear for Denmark seized him as he glared into those violet eyes. "Fine! Fine! I'll do it!"

"Good boy," Iceland cooed. "You'll be so pretty with a hole in your head."

With trembling hands, Norway lifted with revolver to his head and planted it firmly to his temple. He looked at Iceland, who was simply observing Norway's fear with a delighted expression.

Better get this over with. Norway squeezed the trigger quickly, readying himself for the bullet rocketing through his skull.

Nothing came.

Norway's breath caught in his throat as he lowered the gun from his head. He looked to Iceland, who was grinning, obviously enjoying the older nation's terror. "Keep going."

Norway held up the revolver, rotating the cartridge with his thumb. He put it against his head again, heart pounding like a freight train. Never before had he had been so afraid. And Iceland knew it. He loved it. He enjoyed it. He reveled in it.

The knowledge of how this little game would be brought to an end made Norway want to throw up. He wanted to shoot Iceland, but he couldn't. Not when Denmark was in danger. Romano and half of his vision, too of course, but Denmark occupied center stage in his mind. He pulled the trigger.

_Click. _

He'd never really told Denmark how much he loved him enough. Maybe he never would. If he made it out . . . he would. He vowed he would. He would shower Denmark with so much love and affection the other nation wouldn't know what to do. He rotated the cartridge and pulled the trigger against his head again.

_Click._

Tears were running down his face now and he almost wanted it to be over with. The waiting . . . the knowing was the worst. _Rotate. Lift. Pull._

_Click._

Iceland was watching him intently, like a child at the carnival waiting to see if he'd won a prize. But he'd already won. Norway's fear was prize enough. _Rotate. Lift. Pull._

_ Click._

"I'm sorry, Iceland." The words rose unbidden to his throat. What did he have to be sorry for? Iceland was the one doing this. It was all Iceland's fault. But not . . . not entirely. The other nation flinched at this, eyes growing wide. _Rotate. Lift. Pull._

_ Bang._

Norway collapsed to the ground in slow motion and then all he knew was darkness and pain.

Xxx

Netherlands ran like a man possessed. He had to find Spain. Before it was too late. Were they following him? He didn't even know. All he knew was that he would never forgive himself if he didn't manage to deliver the information to the other nation.

Hell, he was never forgiving himself anyway. But it was his duty. His obligation to a not-quite-friend.

People were stopping and staring at the gigantic spiky haired nation pushing his way through the crowds milling about the street. He could care less. He'd checked two other small villages before this; all dead ends. No one had seen anyone who fit Spain's description. At least no one who knew English, Dutch or Spanish. Netherlands' Italian was a little rusty.

The city was so big. He always got that feeling whenever he visited Italy. Even the smallest towns and villages seemed to stretch on forever, on and on like half-dreamed fairy lands where a soul could become helplessly ensnared.

A small tug on his jacket made him stop and whirl around, ready to scream at whoever dared interrupt him. To his surprise, it was a wizened old Italian woman, hair pulled up in a sensible bun and narrow eyes grey and calculating.

"Are you looking for some of your kind?" she asked in a voice that spoke of age and old leather.

"Nations?" he breathed.

She nodded, giving him a sharp look. "I'm this town's appointed official for dealing with your kind and I was told to keep an eye out and offer my assistance. May I ask which nation I am dealing with?"

Netherlands shook his head. Undoubtedly Spain had already reported him as one of the kidnappers. "I'm sorry, but I am not at liberty to reveal such information."

The old woman grimaced, crossing her arms. Thankfully she didn't comment on his lack of respect for an elder. "The personifications of Spain and Denmark are over there," she pointed to a cluster of buildings where two tall men were standing, apparently pouring frantically over a map. "You looked lost."

Netherlands blood ran cold. _Denmark. _How could he approach Spain now with that crazy ax murderer with him? Norway . . . he probably knew he had kidnapped Norway. He was going to kill him. Not that he didn't deserve it, but he had to tell Spain where Romano was first.

_What the fuck have I gotten myself into? _He asked himself, reaching into his pocket for his pipe and shoving it in his mouth. It wasn't lit but that scarcely mattered.

He turned back to the woman, who was now eying him with distaste. "Listen, lady. I need you to help me with something."

Xxx

Spain should've felt angry. He should've felt furious. He was face to face with the man who had tortured Romano. They had never been on good terms before, so why did righteous fury desert him now?

But no, all he could feel was pity. In front of him slouched a broken man. A man who had done horrible things in the name of love and who had everything he cared about ripped away from him. He was once so strong . . . now he had to meet up with Spain in some dingy alleyway like a common hoodlum, to afraid too face Denmark while knowing what had been down to his love. Netherlands was a shadow of what he had once been, all pale and drawn and worn.

"I need to talk to you," the nation sighed.

"I know," Spain crossed his arms impatiently. "Who has Romano?" It was such a struggle to keep his voice calm.

Netherlands wouldn't look him in the eyes. "I can't tell you."

Something akin to annoyance was now bubbling in Spain's stomach. "And why not?"

"I just can't. If there's a chance Belgium's still alive . . . I came to tell you where he is."

Spain gripped him by the shoulders, trying to ignore the sounds of Romano's fading screams. "_Where_?"

Netherlands looked around nervously, like a fox on the run from the hound. "They're being kept in a small building in the forests on the outskirts of Rome. It's about half a day's walk from here."

"Is that all?" Spain tried to keep the hitch from his voice. "Is that all you came to tell me?" _I can't start crying . . . not now. Oh, Romano. What are they doing to you? I'm coming. Please, I'm coming._

"I broke Romano's leg," he said abruptly, still not lifting his head. "That's why he was screaming. He may . . . he may never walk correctly again."

"What." Spain's voice trembled with rage. How dare this man stand here and tell him these things. How dare he act like it was okay, it was fine. What he'd done wasn't forgivable. Surely Netherlands knew this.

"I'm sorry." _There _was the anger. Proper anger now; not condensed into a small pocket of loathing. Spain exploded at the man.

"How _dare _you apologize to me? How _dare _you! There is _nothing _you can do to make this okay!" His green eyes glinted angrily as he pushed Netherlands against the wall. "You are a _pitiful _excuse for a nation! How could you! _How could you hurt him like that? _What has Romano ever done to you? _How could you hurt him and expect me to forgive you? _Why, Netherlands? Why?"

Netherlands simply stared at him for a few moments before collapsing to the ground in tears. "You would've done the same thing if it were you. If it were Romano instead of Belgium. You'd do _anything _to get them back."

Spain ignored the truth in those words. He also ignored the fact that he was now able to see some of the brick through Netherlands' body. Instead, he turned around and walked away to find Denmark, leaving a broken nation in his wake.

He was halfway across the street to where Denmark was standing impatiently in front of a bookshop before halting as Netherlands' words hit him. He _would _do the same for Romano. Of course he would. Netherlands . . .

Spain spun around, ignoring the confused shout from Denmark and sprinted back to the alley.

By the time he reached it, Netherlands was gone and Spain didn't know whether to scream or laugh.

Xxx

Fading . . . it didn't hurt as much as Netherlands would've thought. In fact, it was strangely gratifying. The once mighty nation stared, unfeeling, at his semi-transparent hands.

Where do nations go when they die? Where did Rome and Germania and Byzantium and Holy Rome end up once their time as world powers ran out?

If there was a heaven, he certainly didn't deserve a place there. None of the nations did. Some sins were unforgivable and some bloodied hands can never be washed clean. They had all done horrible, awful things in the past and, whether they regretted it or not, were responsible for the ends of too many lives. Even if the bloody wars he fought didn't count against him, surely the awful things he'd done to Romano during a time of peace were enough to drag him down to the very pits of hell.

Netherlands curled up into a small ball, and tried to stop the tears from coming. He would not be weak in his final moments. But, dear lord, it was hard not to. He didn't want to die here, in some strange country not his own. He didn't want to die in a lonely alley, regretting all he'd done and all he'd become.

_I wish I'd been a better brother to her_.

_How could I have done that to them?_

_ What kind of nation am I?_

_ What have I become?_

The ground stared menacingly up at him through his torso and he was glad he'd had enough strength to get a few miles away from Spain before he'd collapsed. He didn't want the older nation coming back and finding him like this.

"So how did it go?" An all-too familiar voice chuckled.

_No . . . not this . . . not now. Was it too much to ask for a quiet death?_

Netherlands groaned and opened his eyes to a horrifying sight.

_Oh, lord . . ._

The Boss was standing over him, smiling a smile too big for his face. There was blood splattered over his face and his uniform was completely soaked in the stuff. He held a butcher's knife that gleamed a bright and dangerous crimson. _Where is all this blood from?_

"I take it not too well, considering your sorry state. I was right, there really wasn't much left for me too finish off. I wonder how I should kill you."

Netherlands trembled slightly, willing himself to fade faster. Before the Boss could have any fun with him. But his prayers were not answered, not that he'd been expecting anything much. He didn't deserve it.

The Boss leaned down, whispering softly in Netherland's ear. "I think I'll cut you up like a piece of meat."

Netherlands was too weak to roll over, too weak to even try to put up a fight. _Maybe the knife will just go through me._

_ Whump. _The Boss brought the knife down and Netherlands suddenly found himself missing his right hand. The blade was so sharp it had sliced through the bone like butter. The pain came slowly rolling in. Perhaps his nerves were fading, too. The wave crashed over him harshly.

The fading nation cradled the bleeding stump to his chest and tried to scream, but no words would emerge. He voice just wouldn't come. He couldn't concentrate either. Everything around him seemed detached and surreal.

_Am I dreaming?_

The disembodied hand in front of him looked no more real than a rubber gag gift. The Boss seemed no more threatening than a child covered in ketchup, trying to make themself appear frightening.

_Why was I ever afraid?_

The Boss had stopped moving now, grin fading away. Netherlands was dimly aware of the butcher knife falling in slow motion and glancing his arm. Was that his blood?

The realization hit him finally and he breathed a long shuddering sigh. It was okay. Wherever he was going, it would be okay.

_I'm dying._

The nation above him kneeled down beside him, brushing the hair out of his face with an odd tenderness. "Belgium is alive. Your . . ." Whatever he was going to say was drowned out by an odd rushing sound in Netherlands' ears as all the colors in the world ran together and melted away.

And then he was gone.

_a/n I love Netherlands. I didn't really want to have him die. I didn't even plan to have him become an all that important character. I hope I did his character justice._


	11. Piano Sonata No 7

_a/n Ciao, everyone and thank you once again for the reviews. Seventy . . . wow . . . at this rate I'll hopefully get a hundred by the end of this fic!_

_ Despite what it seems, it's really nowhere near over. Maybe a little more than two third over I guess. But we're getting close to the Boss reveal! Next chapter (probably) we'll finally get to find out who the villain is. It'll probably be a long ass chapter._

_ Anyways, thanks and remember to review!_

Romano sunk into an abyss of fevered dreams, shaking and whimpering as nightmares wracked his body. Sweat ran down his face as he wept silently and unconsciously. Every erratic movement sent him into throes of agony.

_Spain . . . smiling, laughing. Why aren't you here? Why aren't you coming for me? Don't leave me here . . . I'm playing a game I can't win._

His wrists were cut up and rope burned. Why couldn't they untie the ropes? It's not like he'd be able to escape anyway.

_Where did Netherlands go? Is he coming back? Please, I don't want him to come back . . . I haven't been this afraid since the war. Everyone says Veneziano is the weaker Italy . . . but really we're both just weak in different ways. _

_ Veneziano . . . I love you. I'm sorry I was so mean to you. _

_ Spain . . . I love you, too. I love you more than anything else. I hope you can move on after I die. As long as it's not Veneziano._

Romano mentally slapped himself. He wasn't going to die. Nations were stronger than that. He'd get out of this. He'd get better. Spain was coming for him. Spain always came for him.

And then the dreams came for him once more, biting, clawing, dragging him down with them. They tortured him with all his unhappy memories and, perhaps worse, his happy ones.

_What if I never get to picnic with Spain again?_

_ What if I never get to hold his hand again?_

_ What if I never hear Veneziano ve~ again?_

_ What if I never get to go out drinking with Prussia again?_

_ What if I never get to eat pancakes with Canada again?_

_ Please . . . I don't want to die. I'm better than this._

"Two nations. One Italy."

_I don't want to be forgotten. I don't want to go away. This is not how it should end._

"Why didn't you die? When Italy was unified, why did you stay? Everyone knows there has always been _one Italy._"

_Spain, Spain, Veneziano, Prussia ,Canada, Spain. Friends? I was lucky to have friends. Norway, too. And Finland. And Denmark, even though he was an asshole. Belgium. She was the perfect big sister. Luxembourg was fun when he wasn't working. Netherlands . . . we dressed up together, didn't we? Spent holidays together. How could he . . . Belgium. Of course, Belgium._

_ Can I forgive him?_

". . . always been one Italy. You are just Romano."

_Two Italys. Two brothers_

"One Italy. You are nothing, Romano. But don't worry; I know how it feels it overlooked. I know what being the unfavorite feels like."

_Spain, please come quickly. I'll wait for you, Spain. Like I used to. Except this time, the one getting hurt is me. Spain . . ._

"I can't wait to make you disappear."

And then voice Romano knew and then didn't was silenced, leaving him to rest in peace.

Xxx

Denmark couldn't help but notice the haggard look Spain donned as he trudged back to where he waited.

"What's wrong?" Denmark placed an uncharacteristically gentle hand on Spain's shoulder. "Who was that?"

"Netherlands." The other nation refused to meet his eyes.

"Netherlands!" Denmark roared before stiffening as pain exploded in his chest. "Where is he? We need to capture him!" he added in a slightly more subdued tone.

Spain shook his head. "Let him go. He already told me where Romano and presumably Norway are being held. I just . . . I . . . Let's just go, okay? The faster we move the faster we get them back."

The spiky-haired nation nodded, a hopeful smile creeping its way onto his face. "Did he say anything about Norway? Where are they being held?"

Spain shook his head and saw the other's face fall slightly before he plastered on his customary shit-eating grin. "A day's walk from here. Just follow me."

Denmark trailed along behind him like an eager puppy, wanting to glean more information from Spain but not wanting to risk of upsetting him. He contented himself with the fact that he'd be able to see Norway soon . . .

Thoughts of Norway immediately conjured thoughts of Norway's troubled shadow: Iceland. Denmark's stomach clenched uncomfortably as his mind strayed to thoughts he had quarantined to the shadowy quarters of his mind clearly marked with large, flashing "DO NOT ENTER" signs.  
Sure, Ice had always been . . . apathetic to some extent but at he'd never fancied him a kidnapper. Underneath that blackened, crusty exterior Denmark had been sure bubbled a warm, gooey center. Like a volcano cake! Or a volcano. Actually, a volcano made more sense since Ice was full of them but Denmark preferred cake. Cake didn't erupt under pressure.

_Erupt under pressure. . ._

Oh.

_Oh._

Denmark furrowed his brow as he tried to keep up the fast pace Spain had set. Maybe . . . Iceland was . . . angry? Jealous? Constipated? No, jealous seemed right. His beloved little Ice wouldn't just randomly shoot someone, Denmark knew at least that much. Especially not . . . not family. Denmark touched his wound gingerly, tears welling slightly in his eyes.

_Iceland. How could you hurt your family like this? Us Scandinavians gotta stick together, you know._

So why would Iceland shoot him and kidnap Norway? Was it because . . . he was jealous of Denmark for taking his brother away from him? Could that be it?

It seemed a little far-fetched but Denmark decided he'd accept it for now. He grinned to himself. Damn, he deserved a sticker or something for thinking of something like that.

_Stop thinking about stickers! You've got more important things to worry about! _chided a dry voice that sounded suspiciously like Norway.

Denmark nodded to himself, sucking in a gasp of air to feed his starving lungs. He'd never been so out of breath before. Perhaps the bullet clipped one of his lungs? Whatever, he'd concern himself with that once he got Norway back.

A monster came crawling out of the "DO NOT ENTER" part of his brain and instilled itself into the front of his thoughts. No matter how hard he tried to shake it off, it still remained there, digging in its sharp little claws deeper until Denmark forced himself to acknowledge it.

_So if Ice was jealous of me . . . does this make it my fault for not noticing before it was too late?_

As much as he wanted to place all the blame on Ice's mental illness and be done with it, Denmark couldn't help but wonder. There must have been something he could've done to prevent this.

"Are you okay?" Denmark lifted his head from his thoughts to meet Spain's concerned green eyes.

He opened his mouth to insist that, yes, he was fine but what came out was: "I feel like this is somehow my fault."

Spain stopped and backtracked to where Denmark was standing, a slightly defeated look adorning his features.

The usually cheerful nation was completely solemn now. "I know what you mean. Sometimes I find myself wondering if . . . if I didn't let Romano go that day, or went with him or didn't piss off . . . whoever's doing this then Romano might still be here. That's what you're feeling right now, correct?"

Denmark nodded.

"Well you can't think like that," Spain said in a voice full of steel, tapping his chest meaningfully. "You just can't, even if you want to. It'll tear you apart. It's not our fault they got kidnapped. It's the kidnapper's fault. Fate has dealt us a cruel hand and we must play it accordingly, not mope about the fact that we've only got threes and no aces."

Spain paused for a moment before his usual 'ahahaha~ what are we laughing about again?' look came seeping back into his features. "That was pretty deep for me! Romano would be so proud . . ."

Unhappiness began to tint his smile once more but he clapped Denmark on the back. "Come on, let's go! I may be sensually misleading to the eye but that doesn't mean I can't protect the one I love!" He began running off down the road, vigor restored to his eyes and leaving a very confused Nordic in his wake.

Denmark laughed and decided to just go with it and run after him. He shouted his own catchphrase to the sky. "Suck my dick I'm Denmark!"

_We're coming, Norway! Just hold on, baby._

Xxx

Estonia and Finland pushed through the woods in a tense silence.

Estonia's heart beat furiously in his chest and he tried to ignore Finland's stare burning holes in his back, carefully monitoring his every movement. The Baltic didn't blame him. He was dangerous, a menace, crazy. _Snapped._

It was almost funny to think he had once gleaned joy from his own ruination but that brief time in the sun was over now and he was back where he was started. In fact, worse then where he started because Finland knew. Finland knew everything.

_The Boss is going to kill me._

Somehow the thought no longer carried the menace it once did. Perhaps it would be better being dead.

_Dead dead dead dead that's all a nation like you deserves._

Estonia whimpered slightly and slowed his pace. Dropping to the forest floor, he buried his head in his hands. "What have I _done_?"

He felt a warm hand grasp his own and he looked up to find himself staring into warm violet eyes. "It'll be okay, Estonia."

Estonia shook his head slightly, mindless of the tears trickling down his cheeks. "No . . . no it won't."

Finland pulled him to his feet and offered him a soft smile. "Yes, it will. We're nations. All of our sins can be forgiven. At least that's what I believe. We're strong, Estonia! Things happen all the time . . . wars, plagues, revolutions . . . but we survive! We persevere! And I wouldn't worry about this Boss guy. Nations are hard to kill."

_You obviously haven't met the Boss. Nations being nearly immortal is a thing of the past. And you're not going to forgive me, Finland. Not when you find out what I've done to Sweden. This time it's different. I didn't commit these sins as a nation . . . I did it as a human._

Wishing he could voice these thoughts, Estonia merely turned and continued walking. The hurt look Finland flashed him was like a knife in the heart.

Xxx

The Boss stood at the window of the abandoned building, gazing darkly into the surrounding forest. He hadn't bothered cleaning the blood of his face and he was sure he looked like a serial killer.

_I am. I am a serial killer. Worse, I'm a nation killer._

Netherlands' death was harder to endure then he'd expected and the Boss was almost glad he'd left Belgium alive. At least Netherlands could die with some sense of hope . . .

He shook his head furiously. No! He was becoming soft! Number one rule of nation killing: do not feel empathy for your victims. If he did, well, then . . . mistakes could be made. And this whole process was so delicate he could not afford mistakes.

Already, Spain and Netherlands were converging on him. The game hadn't really been much of a game at all, had it? He'd wanted to play with them a bit longer . . . I guess that was too much to ask.

The Boss sighed as he felt himself flicker slightly.

_Not yet, not yet. I still have things to finish first. Then I can die with no regrets._

"Plenty of regrets," he whispered softly. "I have plenty of regrets but I can't afford to regret them."

Memories, some recent, some not whirled around his mind, making his heart race and body fade slightly. Tears began to prick at his eyes.

_All this . . . for what, exactly? _

The Boss rested a hand on the windowsill and wiped his eyes. No more crying. No more crying over this. Blood was a better substitute for tears.

"_Hush, little child, don't say a word._

_ Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird_

_ And if that mockingbird won't sing . . ._

_ Wring its neck."_

It was time to reveal himself to Romano.


	12. Divertimento

_He no longer knew this place._

_ Walking through the darkened halls like an uninvited stranger, Veneziano wandered. It was hard to believe he had once thought of Germany's house like a second home. Now nothing but half-spoken regrets and crushing unfamiliarity whispered from the corners._

_ It had never been this way before the end of the war. After his surrender, everything changed._

_ During the war, things were tense, sure, but they always had each other to rely on and comfort. They had cared for each other, right? Italy knew he loved Germany more than he could ever love another._

_ How could all of that been false?_

_ How could Germany have used him like that?_

_ Used. It was ugly word that rested half-uttered on everyone's lips. The word no one dared say, lest the fragile illusion the two nations kept up shatter. But silence did not steal away the word's meaning. Germany had used him during the war as an outlet for his frustration, and now that all that was over and years behind them, neither wanted to admit it._

_ Veneziano sometimes wondered if it was best for the illusion to shatter. Surely it would be less painful that away._

_ "Used." The words pierced the still air of the living room like a knife. That was all he was good for. A toy, a plaything. Something one would grow tired of in time and toss away like any other bauble; shiny, plastic and worthless._

_ Veneziano was worthless. He couldn't paint anymore. He no longer had the motive too. A broken heart often lends fuel to creativity, but Veneziano's heart wasn't broken. It was fading. Just like the rest of him._

_ He wore coats to cover it up, but sometimes Veneziano wondered why he went through all the trouble. It wasn't like Germany would care. He'd probably be glad Veneziano was gone. The only other person who might wonder was Romano, and he never came home anymore. He was always with Spain. North Italy's lip curled in disgust. How could his brother choose that man over him?_

The only person who ever loved me is dead.

_ Veneziano sighed and rubbed away the tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes. He'd told Germany he was going to the bathroom, but really it was to gain brief reprieve from Germany's dead stare._

Why do I keep coming back here?

Why did things have to end up like this?

_Veneziano wandered back into the kitchen, devoid of any light except for the watery sunshine filtering in through the greasy windows. Germany was sitting at the table nursing a mug of alcohol and outlined by shadows like a martyr .He didn't even bother looking up._

_ "Why don't you love me?" A Freudian slip, an unintended confession, but it was out in the open now._

_ Germany looked up at him and his eyes were filled with nothing with regret. "I didn't want it to be this way, Italy."_

Yeah, well I didn't want it to be this way, either! _Veneziano wanted to scream and cry and shout and curse. He wanted to let Germany know how he felt. He was suffocating, dammit! He was dying! He was fading away because no one loved him and no one would ever love him._

_ Instead, he did something far stupider. He leaned across the table and kissed the other man, trying to ignore the shocked and appalled expression on his face. _

_ Germany tasted like bombs and smoke. He tasted like blood, and trenches and poison gas. He tasted like genocide and war and terror and betrayal and defeat. And that's when Veneziano knew that he was lost. He was gone. The pain of knowing was too great._

_ Germany had never loved him. _

_ He pulled away and saw shock and ruefulness shining in the other's eyes. _

_"How could you do this to me?" The fallen nation had no answer so Veneziano turned and ran; half-hoping Germany would get up and follow._

_ He made no such move and the Italy everyone knew was gone._

Xxx

Veneziano paused in front of Romano's room, trembling slightly as he lifted his hand to the doorknob.

_What would Germany think of me now?_

_ He would hate me._

_ I killed his brother._

_ I am a monster._

Sighing gently, he opened the door and peered into the room. He winced as the sharp tang of blood and puke assaulted his nose. Romano was sitting, unconscious, in the chair like a broken doll. His leg was physically painful to look at and the rest of him wasn't much better. Red dripped down his face and stained his clothes, making him look like some sacrificed lamb.

Veneziano strode to his big brother's side and looked down upon him, scrutinizing the pained contours of his face. _This is what you get. This is what you deserve._

"I want you to suffer the same way I suffered." Romano stirred and Veneziano blinked in surprise.

South Italy's eyes cracked open and stared at him uncomprehendingly. "V-Veneziano?"

Veneziano sniffed slightly at the pain in the other's voice. Pathetic.

Romano struggled to sit up, tugging on his bonds as his dull eyes slowly filled with hope. "Veneziano? Are you here to save me? Is . . . is Spain here, too?"

"No! Spain isn't here!" Veneziano roared angrily. Was that all his brother could think of?

Romano flinched. "Then what . . . please tell me you're here to save me . . ."

The younger nation slapped him harshly. "Are you stupid? Look at me! I'm covered in blood! What makes you think I'm here to save you?"

"You're my . . . you're my brother," Romano coughed, looking terrified. "What are you talking about?"

"I was the one who kidnapped you," Veneziano snarled. "And I'm going to make you disappear."

Xxx

Romano could only stare uncomprehendingly. Veneziano . . . was behind this? His little brother? His precious, stupid little brother?

Veneziano got right up in his face and Romano stared into those insane brown eyes, searching for a glimpse, a trace of the ve~-ing little pasta lover he knew and cared for. There was nothing but cold hatred and disgust. "You obviously don't know what I mean by disappear, do you?"

Veneziano straightened up. "A personification that only represents part of a landmass can only continue existing if it believes it is loved. If it is _needed. _You, Romano, are not loved. You, my selfish big brother, are _worthless._"

Romano blinked suddenly, struggling to believe that this creature was his brother. How could he say that to him? What was going on here? Nations didn't just disappear . . .

Veneziano began to pace around the chair, flipping his brown hair out of his eyes. "Look at you. You're utterly _helpless _without your usual bluster and anger. Other nations could've held out longer. But you? You were practically broken before I began. Without Spain, you would've disappeared a long time ago. Because you know the truth, don't you? You are inferior to me! You are the lesser Italy! No. _I _am Italy! You are just Romano! There has always been one Italy!" He was spitting now and Romano felt himself beginning to shake. What had happened to Veneziano to make him say these things? He didn't mean them, right?

The conviction in his brother's face made Romano cold.

Familiar demons Spain had pushed to the back of his mind slithered out into the sunlight. _Why would anyone love you?_

"Let me tell you something," Veneziano paused. "Spain _lied _to you. He doesn't love you! You're nothing but a burden on him, always have been! Do you think he treasures the scars he got defending you from the Ottoman Empire? He wanted to trade you before. What makes you think time has changed anything?

"And here's another thing: Spain cheated on you with me! Everyone's wrong. I don't love Germany. I couldn't c-care less about him!"

Romano shot up from his slumped and disbelieving position. "You fucker! How dare you say that! Spain would _never _do that! You leave him out of this!"

Veneziano laughed harshly. "And why would I do that when he's the key to your undoing? Take a look at your arms."

Romano craned his neck to glance down at his bound limbs. His stomach rolled in horror as he realized he could see the bonds through them. He turned back to his brother, eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you!" _You believe every word he's saying._

"How does it feel, Romano?" Veneziano pursed his lips. "How does it feel to know that you have no friends? Your abrasiveness pushes everyone away. You're selfish to try and push your presence upon the others when they obviously can't stand you. No one likes a person with nothing nice to say."

"Liar!" Romano blinked away his tears.

"You keep calling me that," said Veneziano. "But you're quite the little fibber yourself, aren't you? I don't suppose you've ever told Spain some of the things we did under Il Duce's rule. And of course, who could forget the Second Italo-Abyssinian War! I'm sure Spain would look at you a little differently if he knew everything you did during that. And Rab! Don't you remember Rab, Romano?"

"We've all done things we regret," Romano growled. "Spain has things he regrets, too. His list outweighs mine. Besides, you did all that as well. We are the same country."

Veneziano slapped him harshly, and Romano recoiled as tears at last started to trickle down his cheeks.

_Why did he make me remember these things?_

_ Why?_

_ I don't want to remember Rab!_

_ I've done my best to forget the war!_

"You worthless, pathetic, lying little fuck," hissed Veneziano. "Look at you, half faded already. Prussia lasted at least twice as long."

"Prussia?" Romano raised his head as the implication set in. "You _murdered _Prussia? Why the fuck would you do that? What did he ever do to you? You two were _friends! _Goddammit, Veneziano, he _loved _you!"

Veneziano took a step back, form flickering slightly. "No, he didn't."

Romano strained against his bonds. _Prussia. Prussia is dead. _"Yes, he _did! Veneziano! _Stop this right now!" He felt sick to his stomach.

_Oh, God._

His _stomach._

Romano looked down and trembled. It was almost completely gone, nothing more than a mere outline. The only thing about him that was fully solid was his mangled leg and even that was starting to look a bit fuzzy around the edges.

_No. I can't let it end like this._

_ You are not worthy of living._

_ Yes I am, goddammit! Spain loves me! I know it!_

_ You can't even convince yourself._

Veneziano just stood there, arms limp at his sides. "Prussia . . . Prussia loved me. I killed him. I _killed _him and he loved me." This time his form did not flicker. It began to fade, slowly.

"_Fuck!_" Romano screamed. "_Veneziano!_ Look at you! _Stop this right fucking now!"_

His brother turned around to glare at him. "Screw you, Romano." He took him by the shoulders and shook him back and forth, ignoring Romano's desperate cries of pain. "_I. Hate. Everything. About. You! You don't _deserve _to be loved! _Why not me?_ Why couldn't Germany love me? You worthless piece of shit! You've deserved every single bad thing that's ever happened to you! Why don't you just die?"_

"I'm sorry, Veneziano!" Romano shrieked. What was happening to him? His legs, they were almost gone as well. "I'm sorry I never told you I loved you! I'm sorry I was mean! And I'm sorry I didn't save you from Germany! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, _I'm sorry!_"

Veneziano stared at him with tears in his eyes. "It's too late, Romano. It's too late."

Xxx

Outside the abandoned building complex, Spain, Denmark, Estonia and Finland burst from the surrounding woods, praying they were in time to save their loved ones.

But not all stories can have happy endings.

_a/n First of all, I really like Gerita so I hope I didn't offend anyone with the sort of anti-Gerita. It was simply necessary for the story. I really love all the villains in this story, actually, so none of this was written out of hate for a certain pairing._

_ Er, and the whole Prussia loving Italy can be seen as platonic or not platonic. It doesn't really matter. I tried to make that and the PruHun a little ambiguous as I don't really ship Prussia with anyone._

_ So! What did you guys think of this chapter? Was the Boss who you were expecting?_

_ Thank you so much for reading and remember to review please!_


	13. Don't Fall Asleep On Me

_a/n Ack, I'm sorry for the shortness of this chapter but I really wanted to end it where it did. Next chapter will probably be a longer one to make up for it._

_ Um, this chapter was some graphic parts in it, as well as extreme sadness and mentions of religion. I hope I don't offend anyone but I do hope you at least tear up a little at the last bit. _

_ Thank you once again for reading and reviewing. I'm not too sure about how some bits of this came out so please tell me what you think. Oh, and also I posted a couple new stories so you could check them out if you wanted to._

_ Thank you again!_

Spain, Denmark, Finland and Estonia crawled out of the woods, huffing and panting, at about the same time. Finland and Estonia arrived a few minutes before the other two, but they had to pause to let the slightly transparent Estonia gather his strength.

Denmark and Spain crashed out of the woods, nearly tripping over each other in their haste to reach the building. They only slowed when they were nearly in sight of it, stopping to stare at the squat building presented to them.

The ominous structure loomed above them like a nightmare come to life. Its roof was half-caved in and the windows were choked with dust and grime. The once white paint peeled in many places. If not for its decrepit appearance, Spain would've assumed it a medical facility of some kind.

"It used to be a place where they did testing during the war."

Both Denmark and Spain jerked their heads to the left to find Estonia staring at them with a sort of watery, disconcerting gaze magnified by his glasses. Spain's eyes widened.

"When did _you_ get here?"

Finland emerged from behind Estonia, further confusing the Iberian nation. "We've been here the whole time," he said, a faint frown worrying his features. "I take it you're here for Romano and Norway?"

"_Finland!_" Denmark cried happily, rushing forward to gather the surprised Nordic in a bear hug. Finland awkwardly returned the hug, trying to ignore the panicked glances Estonia was sending him.

_They can't know._

Finland opened his mouth to tell Denmark to _get the hell off of him because Sweden was in trouble _when a loud, anguished scream did the job for him. The taller man dropped him and Spain's face contorted in pain.

"That was Romano!" he cried, already sprinting towards the doors. "_That was Romano! _Romano! I'm coming for you!"

The others followed suit, dread like weights in their stomachs.

Xxx

Theoretically, Romano was now faded enough to escape his bonds, but he had lost all will to. Instead, he merely slumped forward weakly, falling out of the chair and cracking his forehead against the floor in a way that would have hurt if his head wasn't about as transparent as glass.

Veneziano, too, was almost gone. He sank to his knees, reaching out weakly to seize Romano's collar and pull him up. "You . . . you . . . _why won't you die?_"

Romano merely stared at him, blood trickling out of the side of his mouth. "Vene . . . Vene . . ."

Veneziano exhibited one last bit of strength and forced Romano to the ground, crawling on top of him. His brother was helpless to stop him.

North Italy fumbled around in Romano's blood-caked shirt before smiling wickedly. He pulled out Romano's rosary and thrust it in his face. "You see this?"

` Romano coughed. "What are you doing . . . _Veneziano . . ._"

Laughing hysterically, Veneziano ripped it off Romano's neck, sending the beads flying everywhere. _"Romano . . ._" he panted, "You don't _deserve _to wear this. You're going to _Hell, _Romano! We both are! And I'll make sure to drag you down with me."

The elder Italian glared, reaching up weakly to try and reclaim his cross. "Not going to Hell . . . not going to die . . ."

Veneziano held it just out of the fading arm's reach. "Oh, yes you are, _brother. _You have quite the list of sins against you."

Ignoring the pain in his leg and shoulder, Romano struggled for control, managing to roll Veneziano off him. "Fuck . . . fuck you. We all do. All the nations do."

Veneziano punched him in the stomach, causing him to double up in pain. "Shut up! Why can't you just _shut up! _Even disregarding the things you did as a nation, your crimes as a human are more than enough to condemn you. Your love for Spain certainly does. Isn't that _wrong, _Romano?"

"_No, it's not!" _rasped Romano, rage giving him the strength to retaliate with a weak swing of his own. "Shut the fuck up, Vene. Just _shut the fuck up. _You don't even know what love is. And . . . and _fuck, _Veneziano _most of us are like that! _Even you! _Especially _you! We've done worse things than loving someone of the same gender! _Fuck! _Why would you . . . why would you even say that?"

Time seemed to stand still for the two halves of Italy, both staring into each other's eyes as if searching for something they knew they would not find.

At last, Veneziano growled, scrabbling desperately for something in his coat pocket. Romano could only look on in horror as he withdrew a taser, brandishing it wildly. "Romano . . . I . . . _fuck!_" He quickly rolled over and planted a quick kiss on Romano's ghost-like forehead, soft and surprisingly tender, before he plunged the weapon into his brother's side.

As electricity shot through his body, Romano screamed like he had never screamed before.

And

Then

There

Was

Only

_Silence. _

Xxx

Estonia felt sick. Sick because, no matter how forgiving Finland had been, there was nothing he could do to redeem himself after the kind Nordic saw what he had done to his precious husband.

The group took the stairs two at time, Spain in the lead. They turned into a narrow hallway and the nation began kicking down doors as he passed them. Estonia contemplated telling him exactly where the nations were being held but decided he'd probably be dead before the sentence even left his mouth.

It was a choice he'd live to regret.

They'd made it through two hallways and were halfway through the third when Spain discovered Sweden's room.

The door crashed to the ground in a puff of dust and Spain was just about to move on to the next room when Denmark suddenly let out a strangled cry. "_Sweden!"_

Estonia saw Finland's eyes go wide as he pushed his way into the room. The Baltic followed uncertainly, preparing to take the full brunt of whatever punishment he deserved.

_I am worthless._

The noise Finland made when he saw Sweden's body was close to inhuman and Estonia wanted to die.

_That's what I deserve._

Sweden hung limply from the ceiling, held aloft only by the noose around his neck. The skin around it was colored blue and black and his mouth was slightly agape, tongue hanging out slightly. There was dried blood spotted on his clothes and hair and his glasses were on the floor next to him, shattered completely. That wasn't even the worst part and Estonia's heart nearly stopped when he realized the wall was visible through the once-intimidating nation's torso.

_What have I done? What have I done? He can't die, right? He can't die! He's still got his land! Unless . . ._

The unless was a terrible thing. Memories came flooding back of the Boss holding out official looking forms and papers, talking about giving Sweden's land to Estonia once he was gone.

_Once he was gone . . ._

Finland rushed to Sweden's body, quickly removing a knife from his boot and attempting to cut down his husband. He quickly hewed through the rope and Sweden collapsed like dead weight into Finland's arms. Immediately, Finland began sobbing openly, clutching Sweden's head to his chest. "Wake up! Wake up, Su-san! Wake up, _please! _I love you, Su-san! Just _please, please _wake up!"

_He's dead . . . oh God, he's dead. I did this . . . why did I do this?_

Estonia did not belong in that room. He was not fit to be a witness to Finland's private tragedy.

_Nation-killer, murderer. _

Finland kissed Sweden's lips, hungrily desperately. "I just want you to wake up . . . I'm so sorry Su-san . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

_They belong together. I shouldn't be here._

A faint moan jerked him from his thoughts and Estonia fought the urge to gasp loudly. Sweden . . . Sweden was waking up. His eyes fluttered open and Finland simply stared in shock.

"Finland?" he croaked. "Finland . . . th't you? Or is this a dr'm? M'st be a dr'm if yer here . . ."

"Sweden!" Finland cried, burying in his in the taller nation's neck. "Sweden, I'm so sorry . . . This isn't a dream. You're going to be okay!"

Sweden's face contorted in pain and he shook his head slightly. "No, Finland. 'M gone. Love ya, Finland. Love ya so, so much . . ."

Finland stared incredulously before bursting out into tears again. "No! Don't say that! What about Sealand? What about Hanatamago? You can't just _leave_! We need you, Su-san . . . I love you . . ." He kissed Sweden again and realized with dread that the other's lips were growing cold. "I love you, Su-san . . . Please . . . please, don't go . . ."

Sweden merely smiled. "'M so glad I got to here ya say that. Yer strong, Finland. Ya can be on yer own."

Finland let out a wail as his husband's eyes fluttered closed for the last time and Estonia quietly left the room, leaving his friend to his pain.

_a/n I might bulk up this chapter tomorrow and add in a part with Belgium but I'm not sure. There will be more with Finland and Sweden, because I don't want this whole scene to be from Estonia's rather detached POV. I'm sorry for killing him, I really am. But I planned this from the beginning so it was rather inevitable. Romano won't die though, so let that console you. I did promise a happy(ish) ending after all._

_ Thank you for reading this. I can't believe I have almost a hundred reviews! I never thought I'd make it past fifty. So, thanks once again._

_ Ciao~_


	14. Toki no Uta

_a/n Ciao, everyone. I can't believe this fic is really almost over. It should be over in two or three (though most like three) more chapters. Sort of shocked me. I can't believe this is, what, the fourteenth chapter? Wow. Thanks to everyone who stuck with this gruesome fic for this long._

_ After this is done I'll be focusing my attention fully on my Spamano Hacker!AU and then once I get into that I'll start writing my apocalypse fic (Spamano again)._

_ Thanks again and reviews are always loved~._

Iceland shook uncontrollably, crouched beside his brother's prone body. Was he dead? Was he alive? Iceland wasn't sure and he didn't want to look. A Schrödinger's Cat of murder because looking made it real. If he didn't look, he could pretend it was all okay.

The blood seeping through his shirt said otherwise.

The boy-nation wailed, oblivious to the sounds coming from Romano's room. _What have I done? What have I done?_ The rage and insanity was fast-dissipating, leaving him with a sense of hollow regret and despair. He'd let his anger get the better of him, let himself be persuaded by Italy's silky lies and promises of revenge. Since when he had become so weak? If this is what love did to people, Iceland wanted no part in it anymore.

Maybe Denmark would kill him. It would be better that way.

Tears trickled down his cheeks once again as he thought of his broken family. He'd torn them apart and now the Nordics would never be the same again. Norway and Sweden . . . what if they were both dead? And Iceland wasn't fit to live. So that would leave only Finland and Denmark to pick up the pieces.

"No, no, no, no . . ." Iceland clasped his hands together in prayer to a god that had long since abandoned him. _May the body next to me be nothing but a bad dream. May my insanity be nothing but a nightmare. _He pinched himself, but it did no good. He was still trapped in this bloody white room with a warm gun he desperately wanted to believe wasn't his.

Xxx

_Brother is dead. _The revelation was beginning to sink in and Belgium choked a little bit.

_I know he is dead because I felt him die. _Belgium blinked in the half-darkness that surrounded her and shifted a little to take the weight off of her injured arm.

_Brother is dead and I never once said I loved him. _Tears began to drip from her one good eye and she shook with silent grief. They slid down her cheek and dripped into the pool of blood and sweat she lay in.

Belgium was strong. She didn't cry when they had taken her from her home. She fought and bit and snarled. She didn't cry when was tied to a chair and beat into submission. She took it and bit back her cries, lest they give her tormenter satisfaction. She didn't cry when Italy tried to make her disappear. She was too strong for that, and laughed in his face when his little plan failed. She didn't even cry when he took a knife and gouged out her left eye for her insolence.

But even the strongest of nations can be pushed too far and the knowledge that the person who'd loved her most was now dead broke her.

"_Romanooo!_" Belgium froze, tears immediately coming to a halt. She _knew _that voice. Vague hope bubbled within her, hope that she thought she had killed long ago. _Spain. Spain is here now. Everything will be okay because Spain will save me even if brother can't. _

She struggled to sit up as she listened to footsteps thundered down the hallway outside the locked room and failed miserably, flopping back onto the wet floor with a whimper. _I wonder . . . I wonder if my eye is still here. _

The door crashed open, letting in sunlight to the darkened room. Spain stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the cheap fluorescent light that illuminated the hallway. His face was contorted with panic and anger and his hair was in a state of disarray. The normally cheerful nation now looked like something out of a conquistador's nightmares.

He quickly surveyed the room and his eyes fell upon Belgium's prone form. He gaped slightly, face temporarily reverting back to one of brotherly concern. "_Belgium!_" He rushed to her side, picking up her hand and she tried to smile weakly at him, but her Cheshire grin fell far short of its usual glory.

"Belgium, what happened to you?" It was then he noticed her glaring, bloody eye socket. "Belgium . . . your eye! We have to get you out of here!"

Belgium opened her mouth to reply that _yes, _he should _definitely _get her out of here when she was interrupted by a strangled cry coming from a few rooms down.

"Romano . . ." Spain whispered and Belgium realized she had never seen him so scared and afraid, not even during the countless wars he'd endured over the years.

She reached up to touch his face gently, surprising him. "Go get Romano. I'll still be here when you get back."

He took her hand and his own and kissed it softly, eyes full of pain and regret. "Thank you." He stood and ran to the door where he paused and turned back to look at her.

"Your brother . . ."

"I know." And those words broke Belgium all over again.

Xxx

Leaving Belgium behind, Spain exited the room to where Denmark was waiting impatiently. He pointed to a room with blood splattered across the door. "The cry came from there. I'm going to find Norway."

Spain nodded and Denmark was off, sprinting through the remainder of the hallway, ragged coat billowing out behind him. Spain gulped uncomfortably as he watched Denmark quickly ascend the staircase at the end of the hallway and vanish up into the next level.

He turned back to the bloody door and reached with a trembling hand for the handle. _What if Romano . . ._

He didn't allow himself to finish that thought and flung open the door onto a scene that would haunt his dreams more than Guernica ever would.

The room was completely splattered with blood, as if a child had taken a bucket of crimson red paint and simply thrown it across the white walls as if they were four huge canvases. In the center was chair with frayed pieces of rope wrapped around it.

And then he saw Romano.

Spain's breath caught in his throat. Romano was lying spread eagled on his back next to the chair, his leg twisted at too many angles to count and the rest of his body drenched in blood. He seemed a little hazy, as if Spain was viewing him through tissue paper.

Spain took a step toward his love when a cold voice made him stop in his tracks.

"Don't move one step, fucker."

"Italy?" he asked in confusion upon realizing that the other man was standing over Romano's form. He, too, seemed transparent, as if he would vanish away any second. That must have been why he hadn't noticed him at first. "Italy . . . what are you doing here?" He had always been a little slow and his mind had not yet processed the obvious conclusion.

Veneziano wheezed, brandishing a taser and knife at him weakly. "I'm glad you're here to see this. I'm glad you're here to see the most useless part of Italy disappear."

Spain took a cautious step towards the unconscious (_not dead, he can't be dead_) Romano. "Italy, what are you talking about?"  
Without warning, Veneziano chucked the knife at Spain. The nation didn't move out of the way in time and let out a pained cry as it embedded itself in his shoulder. "You really are as dumb as they say, aren't you? _I _planned all this. _I _am the Boss. _I _killed Romano."

"Romano's not dead!" Spain ripped the knife out and tossed it harshly to the ground by Veneziano's feet. Clutching the wound to stem the blood flow, he knelt by Romano and reached out to take the younger nation's hand in his own. _You're not dead, are you? You're not dead, you can't be dead. What's going on here? Why do you and your brother look like glass?_

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," growled Veneziano, clearly frustrated at Spain's lack of reaction. Spain froze.

"You're not Italy. Italy would never do something like this."

Veneziano laughed at the false conviction that laced his voice. "You need proof? You were a fool for not realizing it sooner. After all, I was with you for quite a bit of time. Or did my 'Ve~, I'm so worried about brother' act fool you as much as it did everyone else?"

That seemed to snap Spain out of his horrified daze. He stood up quickly and turned to face the almost-transparent wraith of the cheerful young nation he once knew. "You . . . you hurt Romano."

Veneziano clapped sarcastically. "Looks like something got through your thick skull after all. Bravo. If he's not dead, he will be soon."

Spain looked at him with tears welling in his eyes. "But . . . why? Why, Italy? Why would you do something like this?"

Veneziano's lips curled in fury. "I don't need to justify myself to you!" Before the older nation could react, Veneziano activated the taser and jabbed him roughly in the stomach.

Spain roared as he crumpled to the ground, blood now gushing from his shoulder. He supported himself on his hands, trying to ease himself closer to Romano's body. "What . . ." he gasped, "What are you going to do now? You can't kill me. You can't kill Denmark. You can't kill Finland and Estonia. We'll turn you in . . ."

Smirking, Veneziano dropped the weapon to the ground. "I am going to die. I am about to die. Romano helped me along with that, but I was planning on it from the very beginning. I am content to let this room be my tomb as long as Romano is entombed with me."

Spain rolled over on top of Romano's still form, as if attempting to shield him from his brother. "Romano is not going to die."

Veneziano went still and quiet at that, merely staring at the two. "You must really love him, huh?" He laughed weakly. "I wish I had someone like that. I suppose that was the root of the problem after all." He sat down cross-legged on the floor, holding his head in his hands. Spain observed the sudden mood change incredulously.

"I wonder what happens to nations once they die," he remarked, picking up the knife Spain had tossed aside and running his tongue along the edge. "I wonder where Prussia and Netherlands went. I wonder where I'm going. Surely not the same place?" He frowned a little. "I don't really care anymore. Actually, I don't think I've cared for a very long time." He was fading bit by bit as he spoke. "Though maybe I will miss pasta a bit. Oh, Germany, what would you do if you could see me now? As much as I want to say this is your fault, I can't. It's mine." Tears began to run down his translucent face as he heaved his last breaths. "I wish I could have gotten to say a proper goodbye. But I suppose I don't deserve that either, eh?"

And then Italy Veneziano was gone, leaving the knife to clatter hollowly to the floor.

Xxx

Oh, how he longed for the feeling of his ax in his hands. At least that would give him some anchor to reality, some sense of assuredness.

His run through the halls seemed surreal, simply following the sound of broken sobbing he wasn't sure was real or not. It echoed in his ears like a desperate plea for attention and help. All Denmark wanted was to see Norway again, to hold him in his arms and kiss him and make sure no one would steal him away again. The hole in his chest didn't even hurt anymore. Or, if it did, he didn't notice it.

At last, his pace began to slow and a sense of dim finality began to settle in his stomach. It was this hallway. He was sure of it. Behind one of these doors lay Norway.

He began to slam them open one by one, face falling each time he was met with nothing but a blank white room.

When he reached the last door, he began to shake as the ghostly notes of someone's sobs reached his ears, this time outside his head instead of inside. Denmark took a deep, shuddering breath before slowly opening the door. _Please, let Norway be okay. And . . . please let Ice be okay, too. I just want my family to be alive._

The room was fairly bright, lit by buzzing fluorescent lights in the ceiling. Compared to Sweden and Belgium's rooms, it was fairly clean. The only blood was in the far left corner of the room where two figures lay.

Denmark felt sick. Norway was lying on his back, one hand folded over his chest and the other out to his side, loosely clutching a revolver. Blood was splattered by his head and Denmark could barely make out his face through the red that was still dripping onto the floor. He looked strangely peaceful, in the way a world-weary man who has just committed suicide looks peaceful.

Rocking back and forth and weeping with his face turned to the wall was Iceland. Crimson also adorned his clothes, but it seemed to Denmark more like it was the result of the spray from Norway.

Choosing to ignore Iceland for now, Denmark rushed to Norway's side, kneeling beside him and touching his bloodied face gently. " . . . Norway?" Iceland froze and stopped crying, but Denmark couldn't bring himself to care. "Norway? Are you okay, love? Please wake up, Norge . . . Come on, baby." He tenderly lifted Norway's upper body and placed his head on his lap, trying to ignore the bullet hole in the side of his head. No human could survive that. But a nation . . .

As if on cue, Norway moaned softly. "Denmark . . . is that you?"

Tears of relief flowed down his face as Denmark grasped his boyfriend's hand. "I'm here, baby. I've got you. It's gonna be okay now."

Norway's nose scrunched up slightly. "Knew it was you . . . you've got an annoying voice."

Denmark laughed loudly. "I'm so glad your sarcasm is still intact."

Norway sighed, twitching slightly. "Barely. Denmark . . . hold me."

Only too happy to comply, Denmark drew Norway into a loving embrace, wrapping the other's hands around his back, as the other was too weak to. "Baby, I'll hold you forever if you want me to." The Nordic nation's breathing started to slow as he drifted unconscious again. Denmark simply held him tighter, crying into the other's shoulder. "I love you, baby. I love you so much."

"You're here."

The sound of Iceland's voice reminded Denmark that he and Norway were not the only ones in the room. He met the boy-nation's violet eyes and the wound in his chest throbbed slightly. "Ice . . ." He said it almost tenderly.

Iceland's face twisted in pain. "Don't say it like that. Don't. You should hate me."

_Yes, I should hate you_, Denmark wanted to say, but instead what came out was, "You're family. I could never hate you."

"Then kill me," Iceland pleaded, "Kill me. I don't deserve to live."

"No!" Denmark practically screamed it. "I won't kill you, Ice! I can't kill you!"

"Then what _will _you do?" Iceland shouted back. "What will you do with me? We can't go back to normal. Things will never be the same again! _I tried to kill Norway. I made him shoot himself. _ Just kill me!"

"Listen, Ice," Denmark growled, cradling Norway closer to his chest. "I can't deal with this right now. We can get it sorted out later but right now I just want to be with Norway, okay? Do you have any . . ." he choked slightly, "Do you have any idea how _worried _I've been? So let's go home, Ice. Please. We can figure this out. We can get through this. I won't leave family ehind." He offered his hand.

Iceland simply stared at it and shook his head. "No . . ."

Denmark offered it again, waving meaningfully. "Let's go, Ice. Let's go _home_."

Iceland took his hand at last, but they both knew their home wasn't really home anymore.

_a/n Not quite sure how happy I was with this chapter . . . Ah, well. Please remember to review!_


	15. Sissel

Spain's mind couldn't catch up, couldn't process the pool of blood where Veneziano had been. _No nation deserves to die like this._

So instead, he filed Veneziano into the back of his mind and turned to the Italian that desperately needed his attention right now. "Romano . . . no, Romano . . ."

Grunting in pain, he moved himself off his love's body and took the other's hand in his. He ran his trembling fingers over Romano's wrist, searching for a pulse. "Wake up, Romano . . . wake up. Please. For me."

Spain's heart leapt in his chest as he found it, soft and fluttery but still there. It felt like a moth beating itself to death against the inside of a glass jar. He placed his hands on Romano's shoulders and shook them gently, not quite sure what to do with an unconscious person who had sustained such horrible injuries. His gaze strayed to Romano's leg.

Romano was fading. The moth inside his wrist was dying. Spain held onto his shoulders a little tighter as panic made him dizzy. The limp hands thrown out beside him seemed nothing more than ghosts. The blood-splattered floor was visible through Romano's face; even his hazelnut hair was not spared. It looked more like washed out mud now.

Spain pressed his lips to Romano's glass ones and kissed him for all he was worth. Tears ran down his cheeks and painted his love's closed eye lids.

He drew back and shook him again, more frantically now. "Romano! Wake up, Romano! Please . . . just do this for me . . . I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm so, so sorry . . ." His voice cracked slightly. "I love you, Romano. Wake up. I need you. Please don't disappear."

Spain trailed off as he felt the figure below him twitch slightly, a convulsion running through the man's entire body. Romano's chest and leg regained some of their visibility. He moaned slightly and Spain almost started crying again out of sheer relief.

"Spain?"

Romano's murky eyes opened and Spain immediately placed a hand under his head, lifting him slightly. "Romano . . . Romano, are you okay?"

"Where's Veneziano . . .? What . . . Spain. No . . ." Romano began coughing. He gripped Spain's forearm tightly. "You're actually here . . ."

The older nation held the boy tightly to his chest, doing his best to avoid causing him any more pain then necessary. "I'm so sorry Romano . . . I'm so, so sorry. I wasn't here when you needed me."

"I want to go home," Romano's voice was quiet and broken.

"Of course." With some difficulty, Spain scooped him up in his arms and rose to his feet. The shock from the taser was beginning to wear off and he thought he could at least bring Romano to the entrance before he had to go back and get Belgium.

Romano curled his fingers weakly into Spain's shirt, holding on as tightly as he possibly could. "Where's my little brother?"

Spain flinched as he stumbled towards the door. "Don't think about that right now. It's all over. This whole mess is all over. We can deal with the technicalities later."

The Italian nation shook his head slightly. "No, Spain. It's not over. It's not going to be over for . . . a very long time." And with that he began to cry quietly, hiding his face in Spain's shirt.

Spain's heart clenched tightly at that. He'd never see Romano this weak, this openly dependent not since he was a child. It seemed so . . . _wrong_. _Italy, how could you do this to your brother?_

_ Would things ever be the same again? _The question came back to haunt him once more. He shifted Romano once more to make sure his injured leg wasn't in any pain.

_No. No, they won't._

Xxx

Estonia flipped his phone closed and moved to slide it into his pocket before thinking better of it and tossing it to the ground. There. The police were on their way. Soon this bloody homicide would come to an unsatisfactory close and the uninvolved nations could rest easy in the knowledge that something like this would never happen again. The victims would be rehabilitated and eventually they would be okay, too. They were countries, after all. It was in their nature to rebuild and survive.

He could only imagine what would become of him and Iceland, however. The curtain had lifted; Italy had died, just like he promised and now the others would forever brand them as _murderers. Killers. _What do you do with a nation that has killed another? These were different times from the age of Germania and Rome. One simply did not take over their land and their wealth. To kill was a crime, now, for with new advancements came new rules.

So what happened to the nations that broke these new rules? They still needed them to help run their countries, in fact, they were vital. They couldn't kill _them _and divide up their land between the surrounding countries, as that would make them little better.

Estonia wished he had the means to kill himself. He certainly felt worthless enough. But his people . . . his people still needed him. They beat inside him like a pulse and he could not abandon them.

He slumped against a wall and held his head in his hands. Finland's face would not leave him, that awful look of absolute _devastation. _To think he had been the cause of it . . . That he, Estonia, the nerdiest of all the nations was capable of something that horrific.

Images of the horrors he had endured under Russia flashed behind his eyelids and he tried desperately to shake them away. Those were no excuse. No excuse at all. Russia was not insane. He hadn't been for a very long time and he had been the one who had _committed _those crimes.

Why was Estonia mad while Russia wasn't?

He remembered Romano's face when he was lying there, in intense pain from the poisoned pasta he had consumed. He remembered the horror on Sweden's face while Estonia had nearly bashed his brains out with a frying pan. He had _liked _that. He had _enjoyed _it.

Truly, he was not fit to live. Because what if he did it again? What if this (oh, lord, _this) _happened again? The seed of malice would be forever planted within his mind. The other nations would have to imprison him. But . . . his _people. _

There was no way out. No solution. This was the final problem.

_What do you do with a nation that has killed?_

Xxx

At long last, Finland released Sweden's body and set it tenderly on the floor. He looked so utterly _peaceful. _His usual fierce expression had slackened some and made him look almost _happy._

Finland adjusted his glasses with a trembling hands, a certain numbness gathering his stomach as he thought of Hanatamago, and their house and _oh, God, Sealand._ An idyllic family that Su-san had tried to create for them and that Finland had broke apart.

Estonia had killed him, but Finland had given him the means to do it.

"I'm sorry I never told you I loved you. If only . . . if only . . ." Finland trailed off miserably. He pressed a kiss to Sweden's lips and fought off the urge to break down again. Right now, he needed to be strong. There would be time for private mourning and regret later. Right now . . . right now . . . there were other things that he needed to attend to.

A dull knock on the door on the door made him turn, heart speeding up slightly. _If it's Estonia . . ._

It wasn't Estonia. The shattered, battered, bloody and ragged remains of his family stood there instead. Denmark's eyes were dull yet burned with a fierce light and he carried Norway in his arms. Norway's hair and face were completely drenched in blood and Finland wanted to throw up. _No . . . not Norway, too. _Iceland stood slightly to the right of Denmark, violet eyes cast downward.

Finland looked at Denmark, who seemed to understand the unspoken question. "Norway is . . . Norway is alive, don't worry. Come on, Finland. We're going home. _All _of us. Can you lift . . . Sweden?"

Finland began to nod slightly, but before he got the chance to turn around, Denmark had delicately placed Norway on the floor and sprinted across the room to envelop the shorter nation in a firm embrace. Finland froze slightly before returning it and Denmark began to cry into his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Finland . . . I'm so, so sorry. Sweden . . . oh, god, what has become of us? Sweden and I . . . fought a lot . . . but we were a _family. _Not in blood, but in bond. Sweden . . ."

Finland started to cry again, resting his forehead on Denmark's understanding shoulder. Their family . . . their poor, poor broken family

At last, they broke apart, still wiping tears from their cheeks. Denmark turned to go and pick up Norway once more, then froze.

Iceland was on the floor next to Norway, gingerly smoothing the hair from his eyes with one hand and frantically wiping his face with the other. He seemed to be singing or murmuring something but neither of the older nations could make it out.

Denmark reached out to stop him, but Finland grabbed his arm and shook his head slightly.

_We have to forgive to forget, and while that may be a long time coming, it will. It has to. Because family is all we have in the end._

Finland thought of Sweden and found that that might not be quite true.

_a/n This chapter was short on purpose, as it wasn't as much action as emotion. I'm winding this story down because we're nearing the end. There are two alternate endings to this story that I am going to consider carefully. In any event, the next chapter is most likely going to be the epilogue, which will be quite long (I do keep promising that, don't I?)_

_ I'm sorry for the wait, finals caught up with me and I was overcome with BBC Sherlock feels. I also wondered if there was a lack of interest in this story and sort of lost motivation for a week. Mean anons on Tumblr, and the like. You know how it is._

_ Ahahahaha, I'm rambling now, sorry. There's a 90% chance that I'll write a sequel to this, but it will be more of a Hurt/Comfort fic than horror. Though there will be a touch of it (okay, maybe more than a touch). Of course, if no one's willing to read it, it'd be rather pointless to write it so tell me what you think on that account. It won't be written for awhile anyway._

_ Er, the chapter title is a beautiful Icelandic lullaby. Look it up._

_ Sorry for the long author's note, and please remember to review! Thanks!_


	16. Mockingbird Epilogue

The rain fell in sheets and pattered against the large glass window Romano had positioned himself in front of. He watched it listlessly, hunched forward in his wheelchair like the invalid he was. It wasn't that he particularly liked observing the rain, but it was something that required very little thinking. Very little remembering. Maybe if he just watched the rain forever, he could pretend everything was a dream, just sink into the cool wet oblivion and finish his metamorphosis into a silent vegetable. He would do it eagerly if not for the one variable that kept him alive, that kept him trying to recover.

The one person who overwrote Veneziano's crazed eyes.

"Romano!" The door opened and shut with a jingle and Romano raised his head slightly. "Romano! I'm sorry I had to leave you for so long! I brought us some pizza from down the street. I thought we could eat it together. It might be a bit soggy, though."

The Italian nation (now the only one) straightened a little and began to wheel himself into the kitchen, where Spain was setting down the paper-bagged groceries on the table and balancing a pizza box in one hand. He grinned when he saw Romano roll into the kitchen. "How are you, lovely?"

Romano's mouth quirked into a slight smile but that was all. Spain's face fell. "Still not talking, huh? I guess I should stop getting my hopes up, it's only been a couple months and the doctors said it could take y-years . . . even for nations." He took a deep breath and Romano watched him carefully, heart breaking a little on the inside. He opened his mouth as if to say something, something meaningless yet reassuring. A euphemism of some sort that they could both take comfort in. He then shut him mouth once again, swallowing deeply in disappointment.

_One day everything will be alright._

Selective mutism was a horrible term, wasn't it?

Still cradling the pizza, Spain pushed Romano in the living room where he had previously kept up sentry against the rain. He set the pizza down on the elegant oaken coffee table and moved his lover up to it, taking the place on the couch opposite of him.

Spain watched as Romano took a slice of pizza with trembling hands before grabbing a piece of his own. He sunk his teeth into it tore off a large chunk, eyes never leaving Romano.

"Romano?"

Romano looked up.

"I love you," Spain was staring at him intensely now. "I'd just like to remind you that I love you more than anything or anyone else in the world and I'm so glad I managed to save you. I'll be with you forever and I'll never _ever _abandon you, even if it takes you forever and a day to recover. Okay?"

Romano nodded, another smile forming on his lips and in his heart. These proclamations from his lover were anything but rare, but they allowed him to keep trying just a little bit harder. He'd get better. He'd be normal again. If only for Spain. He took a bite of the pizza and chewed thoughtfully.

"Oh!" Spain snapped his fingers and straightened up a bit. "I got a letter from Germany today."

Romano's brow darkened and Spain chuckled happily. As long as Romano kept some of his old personality quirks, they could hold on to belief that things could be the same again.

Spain took it out of his pocket and shook the water droplets from it. He peered over the edge, expression melting into one of concern. "Is it okay if I read this to you? I don't want to upset you. It's about . . . what happened."

Romano hesitated then nodded.

"Okay, good," Spain sighed in relief and glanced back down at the letter. "Belgium is doing fine, her recovery is going well and she's moved in with Switzerland. He's looking after her now since Netherlands is d-dead. So that's good, right? Belgium's going to be just fine.

"Norway is . . . taking a little longer to recover, but his situation was almost as bad as yours, so that's understandable. At least he has Denmark, just like you have me. Iceland went to live with Hong Kong and the other Asians for now. A sort of rehabilitation thing, since Hong Kong is Iceland's friend and Scandinavia isn't exactly the best place for him to do so at the moment. Finland is still at little b-broken up about Sweden, understandably. But he has Sealand and Hanatamago so he's not alone.

"Estonia is now living with Ukraine, since we decided she would be accepting enough to take care of him. Germany hasn't heard much news but according to Russia things seem to be going alright.

"The funerals for Netherlands, Italy and P-Prussia were held a month ago. Quiet. Not a lot of people attended," Spain's voice broke. "I w-wish I could have gone to Prussia's . . . to say goodbye and to say s-sorry." He let go of the paper and buried his face in his hands, sobbing softly. "Oh, Romano . . . it's my fault he died, isn't it? It's my fault and France's fault and Germany's fault and Hungary's fault and Austria's fault, because Prussia didn't think we l-loved him. If what I-Italy . . . if what Veneziano said was true then that means P-Prussia died thinking we didn't love him."

Romano couldn't stand this. He couldn't look at the face of the man he loved and know that two months ago, he had almost lost everything that was precious to him. To see Spain so tortured . . .

Prussia's death was the fault of only one person: Veneziano. No one else deserved to suffer for it.

Romano shifted some of his weight to his still healing leg, wiggling it around a little bit inside the cast. He gritted his teeth and braced his hands against the arms of the wheelchair. After a flash of pain almost sent him back to his knees, he managed to lever himself out of the wheelchair for the first time it what felt like forever.

Spain still had his face hidden and didn't seem to notice what has happening. Using the edge of the coffee table as a crutch, he sidled around the edge, almost falling once or twice. The pain was excruciating and he wondered if his legs would be able to take the strain. He focused on keeping his breathing calm and even, as not to alarm Spain. He wanted to be able to do this himself. He didn't want help.

At last he made it near Spain, Romano's legs gave out and he collapsed on top of his Spanish lover. Spain made a surprised squeaking noise, quickly reaching out his hands to catch him. Romano grabbed his forearms, slowly pushing Spain down on to the couch and awkwardly lying himself across him, head nestled in the hollow of the other's neck.

"I love you so much, you goddamn bastard," Romano choked out and Spain nearly stopped breathing.

"Romano . . . Romano, you spoke," Spain's voice sounded almost disbelieving.

Romano almost began sobbing but managed to keep himself together. "I don't want to see you like this. I don't w-want you destroyed over something that isn't your fault. W-what would P-Prussia say if he could see you now? You know, he probably c-can. So he knows that you cared about h-him and he probably doesn't want you to b-be like this. _I _d-don't want you to be like this, okay stupid? I love you too much to see you hurt."

Spain wrapped his arms around Romano, hugging him tightly to him. "Romano . . . thank you, Romano. I love you, Roma. I'm so glad . . . I'm so glad I have you. Do you think that things will e-ever be okay again?"

Romano pressed his head to Spain's chest, listening to his heartbeat, the comforting, slow bass that told him that maybe the dream of what they once had wasn't so far off after all.

"Yes," he sighed. "Yes, I think so. But for now, can we stay like this forever?"

Spain tilted his head to press a deep kiss to Romano's lips. "Of course we can."

Outside, the rain poured down, but inside the cozy little place Romano and Spain called home, the sun was just again beginning to shine.

(_a/n It's over? It's finally over? This was supposed to be longer . . . but I like it at this length better. I hope the ending wasn't too sappy, but I think Spain and Romano deserved it after all I've put them through._

_ Thank you so much for all the reviews, alerts, and favorites. You guys gave me the confidence and motivation to finish this monstrous fic. I just want to print out all those lovely words of praise and cherish them forever._

_ I do promise to start updating my other stories with more regularity. _

_ It's hard to believe this is goodbye, but thank you once again for making to the end of this crazy joyride with me I wouldn't hold your breath for a sequel (though I do have one planned), I'm just swamped with a lot of other things right now Reviews are still loved.)_


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